Life (or Something Like It)

Yay, Short Story Time! first draft of the the first piece of a weird little project of mine inspired by spending way too much time reading text's from last night.



Life (or Something Like It)

[Viva Las Vegas]



It was eight AM when Mel opened her door to find Tavy on the other side looking like a car crash and grinning like the Cheshire cat. His lime-green shirt had a hole in the side that looked suspiciously like something had taken a bite out of it and his fedora was crumpled as if it had been run over by a van and only half-heartedly dusted off. The bright orange suspenders that were his latest crime against fashion were dangling loose and jingled every time he shifted his weight from the bells that had been somehow safety pinned on. He was also missing his left shoe. About the only part of his attire that was not mangled or altered was the black leather collar that he always wore buckled about his neck, the gold wire-work inlay of apples and pentagons glinting in the light from the landing. The smart thing to would have been to shut the door in his face and go back to bed, instead Mel just sighed, ushered him in, and limped into the kitchen put on a pot of coffee. Tavy followed her, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a hyper active four year old.

"Do I even want to know?" She asked. It wasn't really a rhetorical question; sometimes Tavy's explanations were worse than the nagging curiosity of not knowing.

"Probably not," Tavy said cheerfully, flicking some of his white-blonde hair out of his eyes. It was streaked a sort of magenta color that morning despite it having been solid blue yesterday. "Happy Birthday Melinda!"

Mel raised an eyebrow. "Whatever you are planning, just no," she said firmly.

Tavy's manic grin just grew wider. "Too late; Sunday already okayed it. It is your twenty-fourth birthday and you, darling, are going to have fun whether you like it or not."

Mel resisted the urge to groan and poured herself a cup of coffee, not even bothering with cream or sugar. If Tavy had swayed Sunday over to his evil plan then there would be very little chance of Mel getting out of it. She watched as Tavy dug through one of her lower kitchen cupboards and produced a pair of flip flops. He casually shook off his remaining tennis shoe and slipped his feet in, not bothering to remove his socks. The tiny voice of logic, that was slowly starving the longer she knew him, very desperately wanted to ask him why he had a pair of flip flops in her kitchen cupboard, but the wisdom of experience quickly quashed it.

"I have work tomorrow," she tried, a touch desperately. It was true, she did usually work the morning shift on Sunday, but since she technically owned the café she could make the schedule whatever she wanted.

Tavy just shook his head from where he was now perched on her counter eating one of the yellow apples he always seemed to have on his person. "Val already promised to cover for you," he replied. "Sorry doll, but you can't get out of it this year. You are going to get plastered, sing bad karaoke, make out with a few random strangers, and maybe win a million dollars."

Mel blanched. "You are not talking me to the casino."

"No, your cousin is taking you to the casino, she's the DD, I'm simply functioning as a tour guide for the Land of Fun. I'm aware you are not a frequent visitor there so it would be irresponsible to leave you on your own." Tavy replied with just a touch of smugness. Brick, her grumpy, anti-social Maine-coon jumped up on the counter and sat down next to him in a show of solidarity. Tavy patted him happily and gave her a winning smile.

Mel took a long sip of coffee and glared at them. "Quit subverting my cats."

"Just Brick, Mr. Spooky still seems go out of his way to avoid me." Tavy pouted

"You probably hurt his eyes," she muttered spitefully, only to look down to see the ruddy-colored Somali cat sitting on her foot and giving her a firm look.

Mel just sighed in resignation of the coming apocalypse. The very first week they had met, Mel had gone out drinking with Tavy. She lost five hours, woke up cuddling a construction cone and had thirty new friend requests on Facebook. She swore never to do it again. The second time she had apparently challenged a hobo to a sing-off, bought twelve kumquats and a fish. The fourth time she tried to get a restraining order against her neighbor's Chihuahua and no one was ever allowed to speak of the third time. Ever. The worst part was Tavy seemed incapable of getting drunk. You could poor enough alcohol into him to knock-out the entirety of Russia and he would still be completely functional. Which meant that all his crazy was just a personality trait. She wondered what it said about her own personality that she kept him around.



***

Mel entered the casino with a funeral expression. Her long brown hair had pulled up into a ponytail that was mostly about keeping it out of the way when the inevitable vomiting set in then any sense of fashion. She was dressed in dark slacks and a blue-grey shirt that Sunday had forced over her head, saying it complemented her eyes. Mel was uncompromising about keeping her sneakers, and Tavy was uncompromising about her bringing her cane. She hated advertising that she was a cripple but privately admitted she'd be in a lot of pain tomorrow if she tried to do without it for an entire evening. Still it was a pretty piece, made of carved mahogany wood with silver ball-style hand hold. It had been a Christmas gift from Tavy, who said that he took offense to the battered granny cane she'd been mostly avoiding using from the start. Mel was of the opinion that he should not be allowed to comment on other people's sartorial choices.

A glance to her left took in his current attire. He was dressed in plaid pants, a white button-up shirt, and a patchwork waistcoat in every loud color of the rainbow. He had retained the jingle-bell suspenders from this morning but his magenta streaked hair was now mostly it's natural white-blonde with just the tips dyed orange. Thankfully he had traded the socks and flip-flop combo for a pair of battered combat boots. The black leather collar was ever-present. He gave her his usual boyish smile, but Mel could see the chaos piling up behind his eyes.

"Stop looking so grim, Melly, it's your birthday," A melodic, feminine voice said from her right, pulling her eyes away from Tavy.

Mel glared at her cousin. "Don't call me that."

Sunday was two years Mel's senior with long blond hair, wide dark eyes and ruby lips. Mel had spent most of her adolescence feeling nothing but envious hatred for her almost preternaturally beautiful cousin. While Mel had been fighting back pimples and seemingly incapable of not looking like she'd applied her make-up with a trowel, Sunday had every boy within thirty feet worked up into a hormonal frenzy without even trying. That had changed after the accident, though Mel's girlish pride still felt a twinge of envy every time she looked at the gorgeous woman next to her.

Tonight, her companions' extreme looks would probably prove more beneficial than anything. No one was likely to pay much attention to the grumpy cripple with those two around. She allowed herself the small fantasy of just having a few quiet drinks at the bar, chatting with her friends and heading home. Whatever hope that she had went up in flames like a ant found by a six-year-old when she saw who was waiting at the bar. Tiny and petite Kira was holding up the much taller and enthusiastically waving Cricket who was already on what Mel would guess to be her fourth shot of the night. Of course Tavy was going to invite her best friends; she should have known better.

"Happy Birthday Mel," Kira greeted her calmly as Cricket launched herself at the scowling brunette.

With the ease of long practice, Mel managed to catch her friend and keep them both upright as she gave Kira a friendly nod of acknowledgement. The three of them had been friends since early childhood and there was very little they wouldn't do for each other. Mel just wished aiding and abetting Tavy was on the list of don'ts.

"Alright!" Cricket announced, bouncing back to her barstool and half-dragging a protesting Mel with her. "Time to do shots."

"And by that she means not counting the five she had while we were waiting," Kira added as an aside to Mel.

She turned one last pleading glance at her four companions, who all gave her matching, unsympathetic grins. "Guys?" she entreated.

Tavy grabbed her shoulders and placed a kiss on her forehead. "You'll be just fine, Mel."

"Lies," said the voice of experience.

***

DrunkMel and SoberMel were two very different people, Mel thought fuzzily as she, Cricket, and Tavy bellowed the lyrics of Bohemian Rhapsody into the lone microphone. She could see Sunday cheering them on in her elegant, graceful way, while Kira was having a delightful time getting the bartender all hot and flustered. She turned back to the teleprompter and was disappointed to see that there were no more lyrics. Oh well, she would just have to be creative. It took only and handful of seconds for the microphone to be forcefully removed from her control. Mel glared mutinously at Sunday and the guy who controlled the karaoke machine.

"Mel, honey, you were howling into the microphone," Sunday said gently, and with some amusement.

"You're just mad I got to grow up to be a car-alarm," Mel retorted shrewdly.

Sunday choked back a laugh.

"More like an air-raid siren," Kira replied, her attention diverted from her on-going conquest of the bartender.

Tavy came up to her right, wrapping and arm around her shoulders and grinning like a lunitic. He'd acquired a cowboy hat somewhere and Mel decided she wanted it. She swiped it off his head and placed it on her own. It took her a moment to situate it over her ponytail but she managed and gave Tavy a smug look.

"You should sleep with him," Mel announced once they had gotten her safely back on her barstool with Tavy's arm around her shoulders to keep her upright.

Her four companions gave her confused looks.

"The bartender," she clarified. "Bartenders are great in bed."

This was a fact. How did she know this fact again? Oh. "I should call Murphy," Mel said with the air of a great epiphany.

Four sets of hand went after her cell phone amidst cries of negation. Mel grinned triumphantly as they all got foiled up in each other. Didn't they know she was the master of the cell phone quick-draw? She slipped out of Tavy's grip and onto the floor but not before she managed to hit the correct speed-dial. She heard one ring before Kira managed to wrest the phone away from her.

She glared up at the others from her position on the floor. It was her birthday, damnit, and she wanted to talk to Murphy. She hadn't talked to Murphy in forever.

"It's my Birthday," she informed them sternly. They were going to give her the phone back.

"Sorry, but friends don't let friend drunk dial," Kira informed her.

"'M not drunk dialing," Mel protested. "I'm calling Murphy. He's being invisible."

Sunday and Kira exchanged worried looks while Tavy and Cricket just looked quietly sympathetic.

"Murphy's probably really busy," Sunday said gently. "You don't approve of bothering busy people remember?"

Mel frowned. That was true enough, but there was something wrong with that statement. "I guess," she said slowly.

"Well in lieu of bothering hardworking folk, how about we hit the slots?" Tavy asked brightly, clapping his hands together.



***

The slots made all sorts of fun jingling noises. "They have to be related to your suspenders, Tavy," Mel informed him urgently.

Kira was gone, but the bartender was on break, so that wasn't surprising. She'd turn up later. Cricket had elected to stay behind at the bar and Sunday had decided to join her. That left her and Tavy alone with the slots. She wasn't sure if they had won anything or not, but watching the little whirling pictures was fun enough that she didn't really mind paying for the privilege.

"I'm going to go to the bathroom. Can you stay right here?" he asked.

Mel nodded firmly. She could do that. Didn't mean she would.

Tavy's grin seemed to suggest he knew that. He patted her fondly on the head. "Try not to get into too much trouble," he said.

Mel snorted inelegantly. "'Course not."

Mel waited until he was out of sight before letting the evil grin spread across her face. Did they really think that taking her phone away would stop her? She was Melinda Doyle, the Pit Bull, as she was known to her varsity soccer team. Nothing could stop her. She turned to the elderly gentleman who was seated next to her and put on an expression of artful innocence.

"Excuse me, sir, but do you happened to have phone I could borrow? I forgot mine and I need to call my doctor to make sure it's okay to take my meds with alcohol." She indicated her cane in gambit for sympathy.

He looked startled for a moment, and then his eyes softened. "Of course young lady, it's nice to see a responsible young person."

He handed over his cell phone so Mel resisted the impulse to point out that a casino was the last place to find responsible people. She carefully moved out of earshot and dialed Murphy's phone number.

"Hello?" Murphy's voice was groggy with sleep.

"Murphy! I knew you weren't busy, Sunday is such a liar," Mel said brightly. "It's my birthday!"

"Mel?" He sounded a bit more awake. "Why are you calling me 12:30 at night?"

"It's my birthday," she repeated patiently; he was always a little behind when he first woke up so she could forgive him. "I haven't seen you in forever, why is that?"

"Mel…" the voice was alert now, but strangely hesitant. "You're drunk," he stated.

"It's my birthday," she said again. That was what you did on birthdays. "Where have you been lately? Dublin's been around to see me but you haven't been with him."

"Mel, it’s late, go to bed." Murphy said firmly.

"In the casino?" She asked, shocked.

"The casino? Who's bright idea was it to let you loose in…never mind, that sounds like Tavy's doing. Look, Mel, I have to get up early tomorrow, why don't you call me in the morning if you still want, when you are sober."

Mel frowned. "You don't want to talk to me?" That was distinctly upsetting. Murphy had always made time to talk to her.

"Not when you are drunk. You and me and alcohol don't mix, remember?" Murphy said after a long moment of silence.

Oh. Right. The third time she went drinking with Tavy; Getting smashed and sleeping with your brother's best friend never ended well. She closed the phone with a snap and limped back over to the elderly gentleman. She handed him his phone just as Tavy returned.

"Shit," he swore quietly. "Mel, sweetheart, come here."

"Murphy hates me," she said quietly.

Tavy gathered her up in his arms just as she started crying.

***

Mel sat on the floor of her kitchen dressed in her faded Yosemite Sam pajamas, hands curled around a cup of tea. She had a cat sprawled on each side of her and had her phone open on the floor in front of her. Murphy's number was highlighted. She continued to stare accusingly at it, as if her current misery was all its fault. She couldn't call him.

"I'm going to die a crazy old cat lady," she muttered to herself.

She was focused so intently on her inability to actually call him and talk things out like adults that she jumped violently when it rang, spilling tea on Brick who scuttled away after giving her a very offended look. She had a half-second hope that Murphy had decided to call her but that was dashed when the ID read Dublin. With a sigh she answered her brother's call.

"Hey little sister, sorry I didn't call last night but I was…uh, never mind. How was your birthday?" Dublin asked brightly.

Mel remembered why she hated morning people. "I got stupidly drunk and made really poor life choices; it was everything a birthday was supposed to be," she said dryly.

"That's the spirit," Dublin replied cheerfully. "Hey, I’ll stop by the Café later and drop off your present. Try to smile a bit for me, eh? Gotta go, I think my date is waking up."

Mel allowed a small exasperated smile for her oblivious, playboy brother. "Bye, Dublin."

"Bye Melly, glad you had a good birthday," and with that the line went dead.

Mel stared at the phone in her hand then raised her eyes to the upturned cowboy hat full of cash on her counter. She shrugged.

"Could have been worse," she informed Mr. Spooky.

The cat ignored her.

The Context of Prison

The desert in the morning; it used to smell like freedom for me. Now it's just the smell of a different prison. Looser chains then the one that came before maybe, but still a prison. A prison built by others, and by me. By a hundred lies and a hundred truths, brick by brick I was sealed in again by the illusion of freedom. If I didn't build it, I almost certainly locked the door. Sunlight is an illusion, rain just a half-forgotten echo, only the dead keep me company here, the dead who repeat every lie I've ever told back to me, and every truth I've used as a lie. Demons that chase me around my head if I ever pause to look at the prison walls. That's how they keep you here; it hurts to see past the illusion so eventually you learn not to.

I used to long for the summer days that smelled of the desert. New dirt to play in, new sky to lie under. I didn't know that dirt would just be dirt one day, and the desert would not be this alien world for me to explore, but another familiar dead end, where I could back myself into corners I don't see how I could ever escape from. Is this what if feels like? Looking back before life shattered all your innocence? Remembering things hurts, planning just leads to disappointments but if you stay locked in the present you lose context for life, and insanity is life without context. No one can break me out of this prison but me, but sometimes I wonder if I will ever be strong enough.

Guilt for a dead woman keeps me close to all I abhor, and the resentment that slowly builds is poisoning the purest bond I ever had. I can't be what they say she wanted, but even knowing this I can't stop trying. Manipulation is still just that even when I know it's happening. My love for her is the chain used to hold me, the whip used to beat me, but turning my back on that would be the greatest betrayal I could ever offer to someone I never wanted to betray. Am I the only one who sees the stain obscuring the memories? I'm losing sight of the truths she told, in what they want me to believe she said. "What would your mother want you to do?" The sentence strangles me. She would never want that. Would she? She always kept the peace in the family but I can't seem to fill the void, even as they try to whittle me away so I can. When they look at me, is all they see their ideal of a dead woman? I'm losing her memory and I'm losing my mind. It's all I seem to know for certain anymore.

Love and Other Fairy Tales

Every false dream has to end, but we should not turn our backs to the possibility that the next dream is the true one...









Fairy Tale Ending

When I was young and the world was new
I dreamed of fairy tales and light
I knew that magic was for real
And I waited for my knight
Now the seasons turn, as they often do
And I find myself walking away from you
Tell me please, what do I dream of now?

What do you dream of when your dream dies?
Who do you wait for when your knight lies
Rusting in the rain?
Cry those lonely tears
As you remember the years
When the dream was alive

I was fourteen on that fateful day
When I first set eyes on you
And was seventeen that afternoon
When that dreamed of kiss came true
Now the seasons turn, as they often do
And I find myself walking away from you
Tell me please, what do I dream of now?

What do you dream of when your dream dies?
Who do you wait for when your knight lies
Rusting in the rain?
Cry those lonely tears
As you remember the years
When the dream was alive

But all lonely bitter tear drops
My shadowed eyes can cry
Can’t ever change the fact
That my “I love you” is a lie
So the seasons turn as life is due
And I turn to walk away from you
Know that I’ll find a new dream now

What do you dream of when your dream dies?
Who do you wait for when your knight lies
Rusting in the rain?
Cry those lonely tears
As you remember the years
When the dream was alive
Cry those lonely tears
But forget your fears
Because an new dream will survive.

I thought I knew what being in love felt like, once, and maybe it was love but I know what I feel now eclipses everything that came before. It didn't happen all at once, or maybe it did but I wasn't ready to see it, to feel it, back when we first met. My heart was bleeding so I walled it off. Eventually as I began to tear down those walls I didn't notice it slowly seeping in through the cracks, becoming part of my very being. I didn't realize it until it was too late. At least, so I thought. So I told myself to keep quiet, that I had missed my chance, and really I deserved it for jerking his heart around for the past three years. We could continue on as the closest of friends. He knew all my secrets, so why I thought I could keep this one I don't know. I liked her too, this girl he was with, and he seemed happy enough. Tough shit, I said, you can cut out this feeling, you've done it before. But even the thought of cutting him out that much hurt, even though I didn't want to be in the way. I was doing well too, keeping my silence, until when the smoke had curled through blood enough that I felt my control slipping I fled to the safety of my bedroom. He followed me there, that night, as he always did and in that darkened hallway my secret escaped on an exhale of smoke. "I love you." What was said cannot be unsaid. Not something like this. Three words to turn lives upside down. Some for the better, and some for the worse. There is guilt for the pain cause, and sorrow for the time lost, but there is no regret. Not for a love like this. I always dreamed of that perfect fairy tale love; to find someone that completes you.

I thought I found it once, for a while anyways, but there were aspects of myself that I could never share with him and that wasn't the way it was supposed to be at all. I told myself eventually that love like that, the finish-each-other's-sentences-I-know-your-soul type of love, didn't really exist in life. It was just an artistic ideal in stories, and I was only setting myself up for disappointment. Because really, even if there was someone like that, why would he be interested in me? What did I have to offer other than a head fully of silly stories and daydreams? I never thought of myself as ugly, but I never really considered myself pretty. I thought it easier to keep my feelings in daydreams and I could always settle for someone if the loneliness got unbearable. I closed my mind to the possibility of love actually occurring so well that when it walked into my life I took one look at it and ran the other direction. I knew even then, I think, what he would be to me. I could hardly believe it was real and I knew I didn't deserve it. So I ran. I am good at running away from things that scare me. I do it all the time even if I never move. He just waited until I got tired of running and came back exhausted and ready to work with him. It makes me think of the way you tame a wild horse, and he did it so well I didn't realize it was even happening.

It's new, this relationship, and it's not at the same time. People chastise me for thinking of the future, of planning a life together already, but it really is like they say; when it's the right one, the right time, you just know. They can say what they like. I know where I stand now. I am done running. I'm scared, terrified of losing this fragile, new happiness, but my mind is clear. I won't let my fear ruin this for me. I will fight anyone who tries to destroy this, and for me that mostly means fighting myself. It's never an easy thing to do, except for him, it is easy. Or maybe the fierce joy of love so thoroughly eclipses any hardship that it seems that way. So that childish hope; one day I really would find the right one, that I wrote down years ago at the end of that first taste of love. It did come true. I want to tell her, the girl that I was, that she was right not to give up hope, no matter how much pain it caused her. In the end, it was worth it. I want her to know that he is worth all the pain that would follow and all the pain that preceded it. I can't, and though it all turned out alright in the end for me, I know that for others it might not. I share this to say don't give up hope. Maybe someone will listen and maybe they won't, but it needs to be said none the less. "I love you." Three words to change a lifetime. Truth can be more profound than even fiction can lead you to believe.

My Fur Stole Likes to Chew on My Ear...

So, a woman walks into a bar wearing a deep red cocktail dress and a back fur stole draped around her neck. The sable fur contrasted the red dress beautifully and even the bartender, who was never a fan of fur garments, has to admit that it looks wonderful on her. As she approaches the bar the stole raises its head and looks at the bartender with sleepy yellow eyes. The fine fur garment is actually just a very sleepy, fluffy cat.

"Miss," the bartender starts, unsure of how to react, "do you know that you have a cat around your neck?"

The woman smiles and strokes the animal who closes its eyes and promptly falls back asleep. "yes, and doesn't he look lovely with my dress?"

***

I'm beginning to doubt that I adopted a cat at all. His favorite place to sleep seems to be draped across my shoulders or sprawled across my chest right up under my chin. He's not a cat, he's a shawl-in-training...

Anyways, so I had a stray stay with me for a night and then she was gone, but it reminded me how badly I've been missing a cat in my life. So yesterday Liz and I went to Petsmart and adopted a fluffy 5 month old Black & White Tuxedo cat. Me being me of course there was only one thing to name him: Mr. Mistoffelees! Who is doing his world renowned scarf impression as I sit on my living room floor typing this. Do you have any idea how hard it is to type with a cat on your shoulders purring away? Hard, so expect typos, He is the world's biggest cuddler and loves to walk right between your legs whenever you try to move. He's already tripped Liz who has never had to deal with a leg-cat before. For me at least it's a bit like riding a bike; I remembered how to cat-walk pretty quickly.

Can't say that I've been happier in a long, long time. I needed this kitty and by the way he clings to us I'd say he is really happy that we took him home too. Best 75 dollars ever. He's neutered, chipped, and I even get a free vet check up. He has his own proper collar now (though he still has the blue band in the pictures), bright red with a bell, and as I predicted our bead-curtain is the greatest cat-toy ever invented. He learned not to chew on our power cords and Christmas lights within the first couple hours. He's very clever for a kitten and extremely loving. He'll bounce off to play for a little while but he always comes back for a sunggle every few minutes. Or if you are sitting down he'll do his shawl impression for you and start purring right next to your ear. Vibrating shawls, I'm telling you he could be onto something here, might be the next big thing...
Pics!

Rain Rain, Stay Today, Find the Pain and Wash Away...

Nine-thirty at night, pouring rain and soaked to the bone; this is what I live for.

Not things, I will find and lose so many things over my lifetime, most of which I will never remember, but moments I can never forget.True feeling. The way the rain falls like crystal through the yellow glow of the mock-lantern lights on the side of the building, tumbling through the leaves on the trees. The way the lightning rips through the dark, revealing the roil of clouds overhead. The way the rain collects in my hair and runs down my face and neck, washing some more of the purple dye away. The way my black pants cling to my leg as I move, kicking at puddles in my flip-flops as I go. The smile of the cabby rushing out to his vehicle as I throw my arms wide to enjoy the sensation of cool rain on long over-heated skin. Staccato drumming of each drop as it falls on the carport roof that I should have long ago ducked back under as the lightning flashes across the skyline. Rain bleeding into my eyes as I stare unafraid into the dark, looking for the next spark of electricity.

How long has it been since I last stood alone in the rain and simply let sensation take over the commentary in my mind? Too long I think. No conversations, just raw basic awe, the primal thrill of a storm. As children, we are told to come back inside before we catch our death, before the lightning gets us. As an adult, we can chance the danger and just be. Soaked, and maybe relieved, relaxed for the first time in months. All the lies and deadlines and jagged edges of memories washed away. I feel myself settle in my skin again as the rain rinses off the layers of masks one by one. Disguise gone, I am calm once more. Danger is a risk, but a reward means nothing without it's opposite.

Brain Drool [Character Sketchs in Four/Four Time, Part 2]

more poetry dribble from the mess of a story in my head. Firstly a bit of commentary from Seth(well his alter-ego anyway)that talks a bit about the political situation in the beginning of the story. As bit of an explanation on the government of Islin; It is a Monarchy (always ruled by a queen) but a new Queen is chosen every twenty years by the Joint Council made up of the heads of the Noble Houses, Guild leaders, and the High Priests of different faiths. The New Queen is always a female blood relative of the current Queen who has put in a petition to be considered. There a list of criteria that has to be met before you can even put a petition in, including three years living with the lower classes. The current Queen is ill with three years left in her term and only two have put in their petitions; the Queen's youngest cousin, Winnedell and the Queen's niece Rÿche. So when Prince Ethan's(the Queen's son) daughter Laura-Jane arrives at the University it causes a bit of a stir. there is a lot more background involving the first queen Glorianna and the founding of Islin and how the country has drifted from her vision for it but I'm still working out all the details. Like I said, it's just a big mess in my head right now...

Anyways, this would be Seth on the state of the country before Laura's arrival:

Good Morning and Welcome [Jimmy Shadow]

Good morning and welcome
To the end of an age
Islin's a powder-keg
Of political rage
Our glory is tarnished
Our values a lie
But I never believed
In live and let die

Son of a noble and a gypsy bitch
I have no patience for the lives of the rich
I had it all but I threw it away
No one's ever gonna tell me what to say

Winnedell's just a clone of the Queen
Stagnation of tradition is the name of the scene
Stick with her and watch the Monarchy rust
Nothing will change, that's what we can trust
I pity all the working class heroes
Her wardrobe alone
Will turn the treasury to zeros

Welcome to the breakdown
Watch Glorianna's vision burn to the ground
Why are we just standing idly by?
Does nobody care that we're living a lie?
Glorianna your children betrayed you
All signs agree that Islin's dream is through

We all heard the rumors of Rÿche's tragedy
But she doesn't get much sympathy from me
Poisoned honey falls from her lips
And I don't wanna be here when the mask slips
Can you hear the mission-bells ringing?
Their mournful hymns
Are all that we'll be singing

So, good morning and welcome
To the end of an age
Islin is falling
Let's throw a parade
All hope is gone
So fare thee well
Three years from now
I'll see you in hell

and now the thoughts of Ethan Mars and Kieran Drayke (Laura and Sam's fathers) on the decisions they made to try and save their country:

Father's Lament [Ethan, Kieran]

I can never ask for your forgiveness
I did what must be done
But will our hope's survival
Be worth a daughter's love?
You must be beyond dispute
When you put your paper in
For if the favored daughter rises
Islin's doomed again
A danger now is waking
And stretching in the west
And none who See now can say
If we'll survive the final test
And so I cut all ties with you
But leave you with my name
I can never be your father
Just another player in the game

My burden now I pass too you
It's weight your soul bescars
A demon on a leash
To protect the Star of Mars
Glorianna's dream is fading
And pious snakes are creeping in
Blood to blood the war is starting
Steeped in purity and sin
Don't think your heart will never fail
You won't be always in the right
And no one now can comfort you
From your terrors in the night
So keep the Star from straying
And don't think that you'll survive
You won't ever be the same again
If you make it out alive

My friend, My loyal brother
What have we doomed our children too?
We've given up our future
So Islin will make it through

Brain Drool [Character Sketchs in Four/Four Time]

This is just word dribble from work again as I try and get a good handle on a couple of my characters. I'm finally back to writing swords-and-horses type fantasy again but this time around my plot is very political and twisty rather then the straight forward quest-and-destroy-the-bad-guy plots from my younger years. Much more challenging for me because every character has different motivations for what they are doing and all of them are going to have to compromise their ethics at some point to get where they want. Fiction writing as an adult is a lot less fluffy then when I was a kid and with a lot more subtext to keep track of. Anyways, this is dribble from Laura and Rÿche (pronounced:rike), who are my protagonist and antagonist respectively and is just me trying to get my sense of them down.

My protagonist's thoughts at the very beginning of the story:

Overture [Laura-Jane]

This is my home
Whither go I now?
Far away from rock so rusted red
And bridges made rope and wood
This is my home
How can they ask me now
Just to leave it all behind
For the sake of a man who shares my name?

What could I care about there
In that city made of grey unending stone
What secrets could I learn
That would ever make me yearn for more
Than just the sights of my canyon home?

They say this was the way
It was meant to always be
But no one ever thought to let me know
That I was going to have to go
The road ahead is winding
And I cannot see the path
Now all that's left is wondering
Who will I become in the aftermath?

and then again towards the end of the first book:

Reprise [Laura-Jane]

This is my home
Where will the Heiress lead us
If I choose to turn away this day
And go back to the life I used to know?
This is my home
Jimmy, I won't be your Glorianna
But I can only try my best
to rise up to the challenge of a country in unrest

The ink is drying on the paper
As my heart beats now in fear
Elliana is so sick that
She might not last the year
And with Winnie's death I know
That I am all that stands between
A madwoman and Islin's Golden Throne



And a peek inside the head of my antagonist:

Requiem for a Doll [Rÿche]

Everyone has heard the rumors
The scars that mar my skin are hidden
But still within the public view
Where is the child who chased butterflies?
She died

Little sister, little broken doll
I can fix you so you will never crack again
Little sister, little broken doll
I can make the pain you feel now never come again
Take my hand
Let me remake you better than before

Recast in porcelain and ice I stand
A testament to the frailty of man
So many that have gone astray
Will not be saved as I was that day
The pain it caused has long been gone
But the scars can never truly be undone

The laws that stood to break my soul
Shall soon be torn asunder
A new regime is rising now
Godless heathens testify
Death to those who dare defy
It's really just a mercy on your soul

Little sister, little broken doll
You will never crack and fall
Little sister, little broken doll
This much I shall promise you
The world will see when we are through
Just how wrong their sainted Glorianna was

Brain Drool [Fallen Angels Don't Have Hearts]

This is the segment where I let a little bit of what exists beyond the tourist sites in my brain dribble out for you to see. This time its an old poem of mine that I found about ten minutes ago. I think it was about my character Tristan Sorrow, but I don't remember.


Fallen Angels Don’t Have Hearts

Born in sorrow, blood and bone
When treacherous Heaven espied
Malicious mistakes in a lost heart
Cast out while angels cried

Wandering in a unknown wasteland
So far from the comforts known
Blackened wings spread in supplication
While a hatred inside had grown

Where light once beat beneath the breast
Now festering darkness coiled
Cursed now to sorrow and rage
Until insouciant Heaven is foiled

A hand is raised to the stars above
And falls as they turn away
Never to feel their gaze again
Forsaken ‘til Judgment Day

Dismissed as simply broken
A soul beyond disrepair
Crawled beneath the barren earth
To shun the sun’s harsh glare

Betwixt the moon and trees
Unseen by the blinded stars
A crown of thorns is passed
A son of prophecy it bescars

And when Judgment Day arrives
Blackened wings shall rend the white
A heartless soul will mourn
The death of Heaven’s light.

Uncultured Friday [CATS]

A lot of the subtle programming in our minds comes from the many forms of media available to us, especially in this age. Now I am not saying that we should attempt to live in a vacuum to prevent this nor is this going to be a rant against modern technology. One, that would be uncomfortable and at times very loud (though I am sure the dustbunnies would enjoy the company), and two, I quite like my many forms of media. However I do feel we should be aware of how what we watch/listen/read make up part of our fundamental thought process. It is only then that we can decide if that influence is something we like or something that is no longer working for us.

So much of my life had been spent face down in one book or another, lost in the lyrics of a song, embroiled in the world of a movie, as I desperately searched for a way to escape the dissatisfaction with my own reality. Trying to pick apart twenty-two years of novels and musicals, news and documentaries, songs and TV shows and see what is it that makes those special ones stick with me, and which ones are just further tangling my thoughts in the net, is not going to be easy. So I'm going to do a weekly post, on whatever bit of pop culture I am currently caught up in or was at one point.

To start with I am going to take my current obsession and long standing interest in the musical CATS. Based on a book of poems by T.S. Eliot the musical first opened in London in 1981 before hitting Broadway in 1982. The first time I ever saw Cats was on a battered VHS that I rented from the Flagstaff Public Library. It wouldn't be until I was twenty that I would actually get to see it live (which always leaves more of an impact on me with musicals). I'm not going to review the play, suffice to say I enjoy it still, but I am inclined to look at the characters that I like the most and think on what that says about me.

First and foremost is Mr. Mistoffelees



The young, eager magician of the Jellicle clan; it's of no surprise that he was my favorite character from the very first. As a little girl(well tomboy) who spent most of her time wielding a magical staff (read PVC pipe), banishing evil squirrels and crushing the small child eating plants that populated my back yard (which was admittedly ten acres of trees so it was a lot of ground to cover), the young sorcerer-cat was always going to be the one I identified with the most.

Next of course we have the Rum Tum Tugger



If Misto was the character of my youth then Tug was definitely the character of my teen years. Of course looking back now it is amusing how closely entwined the two characters are in the story. Tug is the David Bowie of cats and would definitely be the one to capture my attention as I discovered exactly what the word libido meant. He's the flashy showman who gives Misto his moment to shine and perhaps there is a part of me that simply wanted the same acknowledgment. I wanted to be special, not the outsider, and I wanted someone to notice that. (And if the noticing was done by some hot popular guy...well that would be lovely) Such is the thoughts of silly adolescent girl (ok, still a tomboy, but really...) I suppose. I won't deny I still enjoy watching Tug gyrate about the stage.

And lastly we come to Munkustrap, the proud protector of the Jellicle clan and narrator of the play. He is the character I seem to identify with as I move out of adolescence and into adulthood. He looks after his clan, tries to protect them as best as he can. He is the storyteller, always part of the action but at the same time somehow apart from it. I'm still chewing over the correlations between his actions and my own. I have my own group of friends that I like to look after, to defend, to tell my silly little stories too. Sometimes I take myself a bit too seriously, as it appeared he did sometimes too. So I leave you with one last clip, one I chose because it is Munkustrap as a storyteller (which I always will be, good or not) not quite as in control of the situation as he would like (as I often am) and simply because I love the mental absurdity of people pretending to be cats pretending to be dogs.



Presto!

[Yes the doodle of Misto is mine and yes I was aware that I cannot draw felines at all]
[all clips are from youtube user MrMistoffelees666, I just borrowed them to illustrate my point, so credit where credit is due, but I think you are smart enough to realize that.]

Redirect. Fnord

From time to time I will post things that I find elsewhere. It may have some relevance to things I have been talking about it, but it probably won't. You could try and find a connection if you want, it probably wouldn't be that hard, but it's not necessary.

Words are a huge part of my life. As a self style writer (self-styled because two poems published in an obscure book does not an author make) I live and breathe words. But even I find that I don't always stop to consider what a word means or where it comes from. Or how it could be used differently, thereby opening up a whole new door you never before knew existed.

Example:

ver·dant
   /ˈvɜrdnt/ [vur-dnt]
–adjective
1.
green with vegetation; covered with growing plants or grass: a verdant oasis.
2.
of the color green: a verdant lawn.
3.
inexperienced; unsophisticated: verdant college freshmen.

Now I was aware that it meant green vegetation or at least something that would remind you of that. I have used this word often enough as I try to describe the setting in my latest scribble. I did not however know that it could also be used to describe a lack of sophistication, though I have often used green in that capacity. I could have put two and two together, but I never really thought about it. How many connections have I missed? What other words could I slip in place of other, tired ones, even if it has never been done before. I write mostly because I like to tell stories, but sometimes I write to learn things. Write what you know is all well and good, but sometimes one must be willing to write what you don't know. It is then that you discover things.







Five Non-Definitions of Fnord*

being by
Reverend Loveshade,

Episkopos of the Discordian Division of the Ek-sen-triks CluborGuild


* From the Non-Existent Apocrypha Discordia
The following are not the meaning of

Fnord:
1. Not wanting bad grades: "I don't want an F nor D."

2. dronF spelled backwards.

3. You aren't cleared for that information, Citizen.

4. For no other reason, dummy!

5. Fnord

*******************************************************

In the true Discordian tradition, use this thingy freely--just please
credit the author, Reverend Loveshade, Fnord.

Random Thought

Ok, I just have to say that the little fish gadget at the bottom is probably one of the funnest things ever. It has no redeeming value what-so-ever and will probably entertain me for hours.

That is all.

In The Begining

Maybe it's the drugs talking, or maybe it's just four years of life after the world ended, but it's time for a change. Maybe it took my mother's death to make me wake up and realize that while I might have been dreaming about a life that was mine I was living one that was theirs. If you've stumbled here looking for grand revelations I'm not sure I will have anything for you; I'm still stumbling around trying to find my own. Of course that's not to say you won't find any. How should I know? You could find some deep, profound meaning in a throwaway sentence that I will probably never think of again. Life can be like that sometimes; one man's trash and treasure and all that jazz, it's just we don't notice it. If you are here quite by accident (if you believe in accidents) I can only hope you might stay and consider what I have to say, if, on the day you are here, I have anything to say at all.

It started with a story that lead me to a little book and a strange irreligion that I am just fumbling around the edges of.(Yes, I ended a sentence in a preposition. Bite me) I don't know why it called out to me, probably because nonsense had often seemed to make the best sense to me. I gave it a first glance because it looked quirky and I stayed even after I saw it wasn't just about being silly and random. It asks me to think, not what others want me to think, but what I want to think. I'm discovering this is much harder then one would assume, but I am trying and now that I have started I'm not sure if I can stop. I'm not going to pause and explain myself to you along the way (this is for me not you after all) so if there is something you don't understand or want to know more about, I suggest you paste it into your search bar and go find out about it for yourself. That's part of thinking for yourself too and one that I find especially annoying. I liked having everything explained to me, at least in the broadest strokes, but that's still thinking what others think (or want me to think) which is not what is going to lead me out of the dark. I tried that and it got me nowhere or maybe it just got me back to the same somewhere if that is what I meant. The harder I look, the less things make sense, but for some reason I'm almost relieved. As if I never liked the way the world made sense.

So it's time to take the blinders of the horse and get this carriage moving. You can come with me if you would like, or just drop by and see where I am at from time to time. Don't expect all posts to be this obscure, some will be less, some will be more, half the time I will be lying to you (I'm good at it), and half the time I will be lying to myself. Maybe there will be something meaningful in here for you or maybe I'm just beating a dead horse. It doesn't matter; this is what I am going to do.

I am going to think for myself.