Psychic Reader Neon

One day the yellow brick house had a red and blue neon sign glowing in the sun porch window: Psychic Reader.  A triangle with an eye glowed gold in the middle.  The air was blue with dusk making the sign a beacon to all.

Stone Magic

Helena heard her nursemaid calling and mentally acknowledged it as a reminder to hurry.  She had chosen her father's rooms for the spell and felt exposed in front of the cold fireplace.  Helena had already spilled about half the liquid from the stone bowl, but it would be enough, and the stone on stone scrape of the bottom as she slid it into position on the hearthstone seemed very loud.  Again, mentally acknowledged.  Hurry.

Wilson on Erie

The sea of grasses stretched out to the real sea, invisible beyond the line of curving trees, but sensed with sound, and smell, and taste.  The grasses mimicked the sea waves without the finishing roar on rocks, crushing them into sand.  A gull cried above the hissing rushes and circled away.  Lena watched him disappear.  She watched the grasses undulate.  She stood as still as one of the grave statues behind her.

Inspiration #13

It wasn't lucky to have a rose with thirteen petals, and no one would buy a rose that had them.  Nor would the thoughtful superstitious buy a rose with more than thirteen petals because, they argued, the petals on the outside could wither and fall off leaving thirteen petals.  Bad luck.

Because of this superstition, Simon spent mornings plucking petals off of roses.


Inspired by the first line of Theodora Goss' "The Rose in Twelve Petals" (which is a fascinating take on Sleeping Beauty.)  The opening line:

I. The Witch
This rose has twelve petals.

Continuation of #324 from January 1, 2015

324

Sitting in the passenger seat of a car again was freaking me out.  After only being able to walk or maybe hitch a ride on the back of an animal-drawn cart, the speed at which the scenery was streaking by was alarming.  Without wanting to, I was clutching the "ohshit" handle and my legs were stiff in front of me.  The smell, too.  It reeked in here, though I know I reeked to Richard.  I smelled like animal, but the car smelled like chemicals and it burned my sensitized nose.

Posted by KarenLE at 10:59 AM 

Richard hovered around me all the way into the apartment, like I was a stray sheep and he was my concerned and knowing sheep dog.  He unlocked the door, but didn't open it.  "Cara, I..."  I don't know what he expected me to say, or what he wanted right then.  I wanted a shower.  I wanted to run.  I wanted to go home.  "I kept everything the same.  I knew you would be back."

Not for long.  God, please, not for long.

One year ago I went for my evening walk and got whistled at by a bunch of men I couldn't see who were drinking on a porch across a busy street.  I kept walking, my destination the woods and the gorge along the river that was one of the only truly natural parts of the city.  I risked stumbling into homeless people's camps and teenage drinkers, but it was usually quiet and I hardly ever saw anybody.  The city streets were more dangerous.

I always told Richard when I was going out.  I used to ask him to go for a walk, and I used to not walk if he said no, but I stopped doing that some months ago.  I think he would have walked if it had been his idea, but since it was mine, then, no.  I didn't know or care what he did after I left.  He didn't seem to care how long I was gone.  This particular walk, I would be gone for one year.

Richard locked the door behind him, and I started to hyperventilate.  "Cara, sit.  Are you okay?  Should I take you back to the hospital?"  I shook off his hands again, registered the hurt look, but I didn't care.  I fell to the edge of the sofa and leaned down to catch my breath.  Richard tried to give me water.  He hovered by the phone.  He asked if I wanted him to fill the sedative prescription, he would be right back.  I kept shaking my head no and staring at the cheap carpeting.  Richard had vacuumed, and he never vacuumed.  I hated that I knew, and I hated Richard for trying to help, and I hated that if I left, they'd drag me back to the hospital and, this time, they'd put me in the psych ward.

Where do you go when you don't want to be where you are?  When the ties that hold you become thinner and thinner and people start letting go?  Who would believe that I found a way out?  Temporary, though.  Temporal-ary.  My brain was split in two.

Doctors here.  Healers there.  Cars here.  Horses there.  Stripmalls here.  Peddlers there.  Television here.  Magic there.  Richard here.  Jacob there.  Me here.  Me there.

"Richard," saying his name made my teeth squirm, "I need some space."

I don't think it mattered what I had said, just that I said something to him because Richard looked more pleased than he should have.  "I'll go pick up your prescription, then.  You... have a shower?"

He didn't want to offend me.  I nearly laughed.  "Yes.  Fine.  I will.  Please."  Please go away, please leave me alone, please don't come back, please let me get out of here.  Except for the plan.  I had to prepare, and that meant staying for a while.

I showered and made myself a temporary plan.  I couldn't stay with Richard, but I had to stay nearby, so I would go home, if my parents would have me, their thirty year old married daughter, back in her childhood room, interrupting their retirement.  I needed to call them, anyway, since only Richard had spread the word I had been found, and I didn't get to talk to them myself.

I have to be honest; the shower felt damn good.  I soaped and scrubbed head to toe three times.  My hair was long and the quitters covered the drain.  I actually considered not shaving, since I hadn't in so long, but the urge to be smooth again was too strong now that I was surrounded by soaps and creams and scents.  All the fragrances in the tiny, steamy room were a little overpowering, and I promised myself to restock with unscented varieties.

Do you think you are pretty/handsome?

Trolls, by their nature, are solitary creatures.  They live alone because they are extremely territorial and will fight to protect what they see as theirs.

After a troll is born, its mother will nurture it for no longer than three months.  After three months, a toll baby will open its eyes and, because eye contact can be a threatening gesture, the mother will abandon it to the elements.  The baby trolls that survive learn quickly to survive and will, once they realize what trolls are like, shun their own kind.

Names are rare among trolls.  If a troll lives close enough to humans, he or she will quickly become known as "The Troll".  Trolls do not normally think of themselves by name.  Rarely, trolls even achieve language; however, there are always exceptions.  Cassandra the Troll is one such example.

If you were president, what would be the first law that you would pass?

"Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live."  Tara was sentenced to burn in three days, to coordinate with the Fall Festival.  All the town would be there to witness and pray for their own souls.  Tara's was, to them, already long gone.

If you could read anyone’s personal diary, whose would you read and why?

14 Sept. - Busy Day
Quite a turmoil at work today.  Veronica gave her week's notice (because of her fiancee) and Mr. Bertrand took it poorly.  So poorly, in fact, that Veronica left immediately, cursing us all.  I asked to be left out of it, but she and Mr. Bertrand were shouting too loudly to be heard.  In addition, I stopped at the grocery (the only apples left of my favorite variety were bruised or wrinkled), the dry cleaners, and Mother's, but she was not answering.  Vegetable soup, buttered roll, canned pears.

15 Sept. - Deadly Silence
Mr. Bertrand has not forgiven Veronica overnight, nor did I expect it.  He has placed a "Help Wanted" sign in the window, specifying the need for a "steady" employee.  The knock on Veronica was clear.  I worked in silence most of the day.  I considered checking the grocery for new apples, but decided against it.  Mother still does not open her door.  Tuna fish sandwich, chips, remaining canned pears.

18 Sept. - Apologies!
I apologize for my delay in writing, but I have had a lethargy come over me.  I am suspecting a lack of nutrition and, perhaps, light sleep.  My upstairs neighbor has been listening to the television all night long as of late, and the murmuring has been getting to me.  Salad with tomatoes and sunflower seeds, carrots and beets.

19 Sept. - Suspicions
I am filled with suspicions, and I do not know who to accuse first!

If you could change one thing in the world, what would you change and why?

It was nearly Pandemic Day and we were very excited because this was the Bicentennial and it was going to be extra special.

Specifically how do you handle confrontation?

An easy target: young girl, alone, burdened with a bag and coat, walking and distracted.  He came out of nowhere, it seemed, and hooked his arm through her bag, which was slung crosswise across her body.  Using the strap and his greater weight, the man in dark clothes pulled her into the dark space between the buildings without a sound.  He swung her by the bag, intending to stun the girl against the brick wall, but he found himself spinning in a full circle when the counterweight disappeared and he was left holding the girl's messenger bag.

Bewildered, the would-be mugger and, quite possibly, rapist, scanned the narrow corridor for his prey, wondering why he didn't hear her fall or cry out or slip on the garbage.  The girl's bag dropped from his flailing hangs when his head was jerked back by a strap around his neck and he found he was incapable of anything but a wheezing, choking sound.  His feet flew out from under him, and he hit the ground hard, his remaining air whooshing out of his lungs and his head ringing with the impact.

If you had to perform some talent for us today, what would you do? What does your talent mean to you?

"Jorah slipped and fell into the gorge.  I can't see him anywhere.  I can't get down to him."  Filan was flushed and panting, having run the entire distance back to the Hall after his friend disappeared, hands scrabbling and useless, down the steep embankment to the rocks he knew were below.

Donno the Blacksmith was in conference with Hammon, so the Council's leader asked Donno to fetch other strong men and as long a rope as possible.  Even as he began the trek back to the gorge following the distraught Filan, Hamm began composing what he'd say to Prince Edman, Jorah's father.  At least they could bring up the boy's body to identify.  Other, lesser folk who had fallen, or jumped, into the gorge had only been left, buried only by rockfall.

What question have you never been asked that you want to answer?

I have a great apartment.  Crappy, but great.  It's in a terrible part of the city, but it's the entire second floor of a commercial building.  My mother thought I'd be assaulted and raped every day, but I've not yet felt very threatened, even late at night.  Inside is sanctuary, if a bit sparse.  It's an open floor plan and has high ceilings, which means I essentially live in a giant brick box.  I bring my bike up one of those old-fashioned service elevators that I dreamed of ever since I saw Flashdance in the theaters, twice.  I have to bundle like an Inuit from late fall through spring, putting on more winter gear inside than out.  To turn on my computer, I have to unplug everything in my kitchen, but it's worth the slight hassle to have the freedom of the place, and the giant windows looking down on the street.

In high school, I was a dope.  I guess every teenager is a bit dopy simply because of the learning curve, but I look back and have complete and total awareness of my dopiness.  I lived in the suburbs and the sidewalks were rolled up by 9:00 pm.  I had terrible insomnia brought on by thinking about the miserable state of my love life, and about how I wanted to be taller and blonder and more fit, and about how I wanted to live an adventure like I saw in the movies.  I would crawl out of my little twin bed and sit on my dresser to look out the window.  I would crank the casements open and wrap myself in a comforter so the radiant baseboard heat would keep me warm.  I'd even take out the screens so I could look out clearly, just in case.  In case of what?

In case Jason from sixth period Government would finally have succumbed to his desire for me, found my address, and ridden his bike over at three in the morning to whisk me away.  I wanted to be ready.

In case Bill from third period Chemistry would ditch his weird obsession with my friend and instead walk the streets of our town, calling my name, and wishing as badly as I did that I would hear him.

In case Indiana Jones would ride up on a motorcycle and ask me to join him in the sidecar because he needed a companion on his next trip to Egypt.

God, was I a dope.

What's worse is that I'm still a dope.

Here I sit, the same goddamn comforter wrapped around me, in my ill-advised open window at three in the morning, wishing something would happen, someone would need me, I would have somewhere to go.

How do you define success?

Nobody remembers where they were when the world was saved by me because nobody knew the world was so close to destruction.  No parades.  No holiday in my honor.  Not even so much as a "Thank you" from my own family.  I tell myself that it's enough to know that I did it, but, turns out, it's not, which is why I'm writing it down as I remember it before even I start to forget my heroic tale.

It's not all heroic.  I want to be honest about it, so I promise I'll tell the entire story, even the bits that make me look like a coward or a dummy (there are more of those bits than I'd like to admit, but there it is.)

What would I find if I "googled" you?

My brother Tim tried to make it weird to my parents that my best friend is a boy, but it's not.  Jamie has been my best friend since sixth grade when we were both lost on our first day in Middle School.  I walked into the unlit room 103 to find a boy sitting in the dim.  I slipped into the back row, too, and we waited, silently.  The seconds ticked by without any other students coming in.  No teacher.  Finally, we both pulled out our schedules at the same time.  "Lunch!" he said, slapping his forehead, just as I said it, too.  Without the slap.  We laughed, which I'm glad because I was so scared to be a dork.  Luckily, we were able to be dorks together.  Jamie wasn't afraid of being dorky, which made me feel okay, too.

We're starting high school after this summer, and it hasn't gotten weird in the way Tim thinks it will, even though, you know, hormones and everything.  That's not to say it's not weird.  It is totally weird.

Is it possible to separate church and state? Why or why not?

When it became good business, my Da opened up a church.  We were a traveling preacher show at first, when he saw how prayer loosened pocketbooks, but when we came upon the city of St. Marie and he found out that an empty prayer house could be had for a song, we settled in and became religious.

Two years after having a baby, you discover that, through a hospital error, you were given the wrong child. What would you do?

When I turned ten, my parents asked me to the living room for a family meeting.  I thought they had found out it was me who covered the boy's room ceiling at school with hundreds of wet wads of paper towels.  Thrown forcefully underhand, they stick with a satisfying "thwack" and surprising longevity.  "Longevity" is a word I inadvertently learned from my Word a Day calendar.  So was "inadvertently".  I didn't want to learn, but junk like that sticks to my grey matter.

Luckily, I knew not to confess without listening first.  Good news: they didn't know about my escapade (March 5th Word of the Day.)  Bad news: they weren't really my parents.

If you were a Disney princess, which one would you be and why?

Elmore's stepfather pulled him out of high school the second he turned sixteen, forcing the boy to stay at the farm and work on the equipment and help with the cows.  He had loved school; it was one of the only ways he had to escape his stepfather and his two stepbrothers, older and bigger and dumber than he was.  Adam and Drew were bullies and learned how to beat their new brother from their father.  Elmore's mother seemed to be running out of apologies for the man she married.  She whispered her sorrow over and over as she cleaned Elmore's cuts and put ice on his black eye.  Elmore whispered back that they should leave, but his mother's excuses would come pouring out again, and they stayed another week, another month, another year.  The year he would have gone to prom.  The year he would have graduated.  The year he could have left.  But not without his mother, no matter her excuses.

What’s the difference between religion and spirituality?

"Brother Carlyle," the monk cleared his throat and shifted in his bare, wooden chair, "lives alone."

The reporter was beginning to get annoyed, but tried not to show it.  "I understand that, but why did he choose to separate himself?"

"He didn't, Miss."  The monk was newer, that is, he became a member within the last ten years.  Most of the monks were quite old, but this one could still be considered young.  She arched one eyebrow and he continued in a whisper, "Brother Carlyle was sent away."

Now we're getting somewhere.  The other brothers, friars, monks, priests, or whatever they were, kept giving her the runaround, but eventually, Tia Teagarten always got her story.  She leaned in and matched the monk's volume, "Why was he sent away?"

What do you look for in a role model?

In Grand Park's Magician's Corner, mages were allowed to busk, license prominently displayed, of course.  Licenses were cheap, but not easy to come by as there were a limited number given each season.  Auditions were held every year, and everyone had to reapply, even the veteran performers.  Sometimes they didn't get in.  Competition was fierce for those spots, and some years, fights broke out in the audition lines.  Magicians were known to have disappeared after not getting in, too.  Sometimes they reappeared other years, and sometimes... they performed the ultimate vanishing act.

Holly loved to take her lunch breaks from Nova, the upscale clothier, in Magician's Corner.  Grand Park was only a five minute walk from Nova, which was in line with the other major clothiers on Parkview Avenue.  She was a relatively new salesgirl in Gloves, brought on when Messiah Blanchett wore long, elegant gloves to King's Court.  Messiah was always fashion-forward.  But Holly had been coming here far longer than her most recent job.  Her grandfather had been Maurice and Magnificent, back in the day, and performed here in his youth, before he hit the big times, which was decades before Holly was even a glimmer in her parents' eyes.  She had adored Papa Maury and followed him like a puppy.  Holly learned a lot about magic, the art of performance, and magicians.  She still kept in touch with most of them, and they waved or said hello or stopped by to show off their most recent creations when she sat on the steps of Benedict's Statue to eat her bagged lunch.

Today was the third day, however, that Holly came with butterflies in her stomach, hoping to catch a glimpse of a new magician.

Pageant Question: You have been granted a miraculous healing power that could terminate any single disease, which one disease would you choose?

Father Mark wasn't used to having parishioners actually wanting to speak with him.  He was used to having brief, polite conversations at the end of Mass; stern conversations with parents of Sunday school kids; whispered confessions muffled by oak and worn velvet.  But not a request to go out for coffee, and never from someone his own age.

The cavernous church emptied further with every funeral.  Grey, silver, white and bald heads dotted the first ten rows.  One Sunday morning, at 10:30 Mass, now the only Mass held because of the poor attendance, there was a new face under a shock of unruly dark brown hair.  A new, young face.  The young man stood and sat and knelt just slightly after everyone else, not as familiar with what Father Mark once overheard someone call "Catholic aerobics".

One Sunday evening as he dozed in the confessional waiting the usual handful of "I took the Lord's name in vein when I couldn't get my pill bottle open," Father Mark popped to attention when he heard a new voice.  "Father, may I speak to you?"