This is a project of mine that kind of died off. Might take it up again, maybe even make a novel out of it. Give me strength, darn muse ;P GAH, the format gets messed up when I copy paste!
"Hearken! The Great Hunt has begun
And the spreading of terror is anon
Fear the Fool of the Forth
He whose stroke is as death
Quickly! Hide, cover yourself!
Ere the Amadán na Briona comes
To be seen by him, is to be lost
'Tis said that insanity be the cost
Long have I wished to behold;
To see if 'tis truly as I've been told;
The faeries; the Tuatha dé Danann
Perchance finally the time has come
Come! Strike and claim me;
'O fey leader of the Hunt
The most powerful of the Sidhe
I am ready, can you not see?"
The house by the woods
"Coome on! Please tell me you're not reading that book again!" Closing the book with an audible snap, making it clear there would be no clumsy attempts to hide what he had been reading, Eric turned towards the source of his interruption.
And marveled for a moment. Lisa's voice had a way of leaving no room for doubt about her opinion considering whatever topic graced by her merciless scrutiny. Not by any means a unique trait, but one that had made Lisa a center of attention for as long as he had known her. "What? It's an interesting piece 'o lore!" he answered playfully.
Several books and journals much like the one he had been studying had been found following their starting of project Clean-Out-The-Attic. The creaking floor was still layered with dust, and nothing closely resembling a normal attic had yet to appear, despite their rigorous efforts.
Cobwebs still dangled in triumph from beams in the roof, glittering like silvery strands whenever struck by the sunlight's invading of a room so long kept away from its exploratory caress. The Attic above all Attics, as Eric had proclaimed, gazing upon his newly discovered playground, his kingdom, for weeks, maybe months to come.
Their sudden moving to Ireland had largely been a matter of impulsive chance. Considering the situation they had slowly been heading into, Eric couldn't think of a better way to get a new start, a chance to salvage a relationship under siege by routine and robotic habits, and maybe even get some well needed inspiration for his non existent career as a historian.
"Deus ex machina" Eric mused aloud. Seeing Lisa's lips slowly quirk into something close to a secret smile, he couldn't help but feel an almost intoxicating tickle in the pit of his stomach, his groin awakening with a life of its own. Sitting there with that magazine on her lap, a half eaten apple in her hand, raven black strands of hair escaping her hair band, she made a display Eric had come to worship. Again. She was wearing her comfy-setup, all covered in soft mismatching fabrics, the very soul of relaxation. Damn but she's beautiful. How could we have become such mindless drones? Taking each other for granted for too long I guess...
Step by step, piece by piece, their meager living room was slowly starting to become a cozy solace, enchanted and blessed by the presence of relics from the past. A pair of handmade rocking chairs, one for each, the bigger -and slightly skewed one- Eric's, the tiny one with rose painting occupied by the mistress of the residence. Silent, almost shy crackles escaped the fire place, the momentary main source of light producing a play of shadows and light upon the wooden panels dominating the walls.
As he studied the paintings all made by Lisa herself hanging just about everywhere, a feeling of being in a place he could call home slowly settled over him. Endless moving around made for a rootless childhood after all. His parents had been the restless kind, always looking for something better, cheaper, more practical, a perpetual scaling to other side of the fence in a hunt for greener grass, no grass or sometimes just the climbing of the imagined fence itself.
Conditions like that gave great potential for a broadening of horizons. And as such, Eric had become knowledgeable of a myriad of cultures and languages. Hence his passion for history. Ages came and ages went. History was something that could preserve these wondrous ages, something to keep the line of time complete. Being a historian, Eric could work to prevent the loss of priceless accountings.
"I was thinkin' about heading up to the attic again, some of those books are sort of like calling out to me. Feels like some 'em might provide inspiration for a new project, maybe something in the mythical parts of the field." Looking up from her magazine again, she flashed a crooked half smile "Sure sure, just don't let me catch you sitting up there in the middle of a pentagram, wearing my grandma's old dresses all chanting and humming like a nutcase, ok?" Grinning like a five-year old on his way to the circus, Eric rose from his chair, taking great care not to let the unstable old deathtrap of a rocking chair get the best of him, and walked over to his fiancé. "Thanks hun'" he said playfully, as he gave her a lingering kiss on the back of her neck, something he hadn't done in a long time. Again that secret half smile. Damn butterflies. Feels like I'm fresh in love like a teen-ager again. Must be this place working its Irish magic or something.
Watching Eric ascend the stairway to his heaven a flickering candle in his right hand, Lisa couldn't help smiling to herself again. Yeah, you climb boyo, the view from here is quite enjoyable. Suppressing a giggle, and at the same time sparing a surprised moment musing over the origin of that denied giggle, she turned her wondering toward this new cot of theirs.
From out of the blue, it had practically fallen into their laps at a most convenient time. To think we were about to break up. They had grown so accustomed to the other's presence, that moments such as the one they had just shared just passed by, unnoticed, unappreciated. This would change, she promised herself; biting her lower lip, while fingering the mag on her lap.
Shortly after moving into their new home, things had started to happen between them. Small moments, brief surges hinting of memories from their first meetings, their first kiss, momentous happenings, all connected to the feelings they had shared at that time. As if by magic, she thought, ruefully. To think magic was required to repair their relationship spoke volumes about just how bad it had really had become. Yesterday, seeing Eric outside chopping wood like a lumberjack from the fairy-tales, his lean body glistening with sweat, she had gotten so turned on that she'd had to escape the scene to prevent rape there and then. Not that he would've objected. She was just not feeling secure anymore, what with all these strange yearnings from the past showing up like a hungry demon on her shoulder.
A small sigh escaping her lips, she too rose from her chair and padded into the kitchen. Yeah. Here I am, messing about in the kitchen like the industrious housewife, while he's up there digging around in old books of mumbo-jumbo and whatnot, a silly grin on his face. Still, as she started tapping water for the dishes, one side of her mouth slowly quirked into a half smile. Dammit.
The Court
Savoring the new smells, letting the subtle changes in the weaving of energies covering the entire woodlands settle over him, the unseen observer let go of an exited giggle, before capering back into the green cover of trees and ancient undergrowth. The Court would be intrigued with these news, he concluded. Tidings of new occupants, so close to the border of their realm were rare. Those who tried to make homes of the shacks and small houses ringing the Forest either lived there to old age took them away, or made their stays strangely short, often followed by a near frantic business of getting out and away as fast as humanly possible. Yes, intrigued indeed, mayhap even a bit anxious? Ahh, the taste of royal intrigues! Much pleasure will come of this occurrence, I'm sure. Yes, mischief in unholy amounts, oh the joy!
Moving like a wayward wind through the forest, the observer made no dry leaves crackle, nor did he disturb even a single blade of grass. A bird noted his hurried passage without as much as pausing in the process of feeding its demanding offspring. Such beings were oft seen gliding through the woods after all, a trail of fey, life-giving power traveling in their wakes, accompanied by hints of alien smells and music. Popping another bumblebee into the gaping beak of a specifically hungry chick, the bird took to flight, singing a melody learned from one such as he whose passage had triggered the urge to sing. A silent breath of the wind later and a chorus of birdsong could be heard across the whole forest, every single bird whistling the same tune.
Short story by Thomas Selnes
Read 618 times
Written on 2006-10-05 at 03:29
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A Fool's tale
Ah, so you have come at last. There now, don't be shy, do come in! Grab a seat, the tea is brewing and a good time will soon be had, I'm sure. I fear the tale I am about to tell is of the type you'd not want to hear. Ah there now, not to worry, not to fear. Have you ever heard of the Fool? You have? Aye, the look upon you face gives away what you hesitate to say. There now, don't fret, don't cry, all will come right, I'm sure. I shall begin with a poem of a sort, you like those, yes? It was recited to me by the very woods on the edge of which you resided some time ago.Not an ounce of disbelief in your eyes. Ah. You poor soul. I must admit to feeling some pity. You have been touched and yet you live? There now, wipe away your tears, the tea is surely done by now. Aye there you go, ah, not to worry, I shall clean it up in a jiffy! Now, where was I? The poem! Aye, thus it went;And the spreading of terror is anon
Fear the Fool of the Forth
He whose stroke is as death
Quickly! Hide, cover yourself!
Ere the Amadán na Briona comes
To be seen by him, is to be lost
'Tis said that insanity be the cost
Long have I wished to behold;
To see if 'tis truly as I've been told;
The faeries; the Tuatha dé Danann
Perchance finally the time has come
Come! Strike and claim me;
'O fey leader of the Hunt
The most powerful of the Sidhe
I am ready, can you not see?"
The house by the woods
"Coome on! Please tell me you're not reading that book again!" Closing the book with an audible snap, making it clear there would be no clumsy attempts to hide what he had been reading, Eric turned towards the source of his interruption.
And marveled for a moment. Lisa's voice had a way of leaving no room for doubt about her opinion considering whatever topic graced by her merciless scrutiny. Not by any means a unique trait, but one that had made Lisa a center of attention for as long as he had known her. "What? It's an interesting piece 'o lore!" he answered playfully.
Several books and journals much like the one he had been studying had been found following their starting of project Clean-Out-The-Attic. The creaking floor was still layered with dust, and nothing closely resembling a normal attic had yet to appear, despite their rigorous efforts.
Cobwebs still dangled in triumph from beams in the roof, glittering like silvery strands whenever struck by the sunlight's invading of a room so long kept away from its exploratory caress. The Attic above all Attics, as Eric had proclaimed, gazing upon his newly discovered playground, his kingdom, for weeks, maybe months to come.
Their sudden moving to Ireland had largely been a matter of impulsive chance. Considering the situation they had slowly been heading into, Eric couldn't think of a better way to get a new start, a chance to salvage a relationship under siege by routine and robotic habits, and maybe even get some well needed inspiration for his non existent career as a historian.
"Deus ex machina" Eric mused aloud. Seeing Lisa's lips slowly quirk into something close to a secret smile, he couldn't help but feel an almost intoxicating tickle in the pit of his stomach, his groin awakening with a life of its own. Sitting there with that magazine on her lap, a half eaten apple in her hand, raven black strands of hair escaping her hair band, she made a display Eric had come to worship. Again. She was wearing her comfy-setup, all covered in soft mismatching fabrics, the very soul of relaxation. Damn but she's beautiful. How could we have become such mindless drones? Taking each other for granted for too long I guess...
Step by step, piece by piece, their meager living room was slowly starting to become a cozy solace, enchanted and blessed by the presence of relics from the past. A pair of handmade rocking chairs, one for each, the bigger -and slightly skewed one- Eric's, the tiny one with rose painting occupied by the mistress of the residence. Silent, almost shy crackles escaped the fire place, the momentary main source of light producing a play of shadows and light upon the wooden panels dominating the walls.
As he studied the paintings all made by Lisa herself hanging just about everywhere, a feeling of being in a place he could call home slowly settled over him. Endless moving around made for a rootless childhood after all. His parents had been the restless kind, always looking for something better, cheaper, more practical, a perpetual scaling to other side of the fence in a hunt for greener grass, no grass or sometimes just the climbing of the imagined fence itself.
Conditions like that gave great potential for a broadening of horizons. And as such, Eric had become knowledgeable of a myriad of cultures and languages. Hence his passion for history. Ages came and ages went. History was something that could preserve these wondrous ages, something to keep the line of time complete. Being a historian, Eric could work to prevent the loss of priceless accountings.
"I was thinkin' about heading up to the attic again, some of those books are sort of like calling out to me. Feels like some 'em might provide inspiration for a new project, maybe something in the mythical parts of the field." Looking up from her magazine again, she flashed a crooked half smile "Sure sure, just don't let me catch you sitting up there in the middle of a pentagram, wearing my grandma's old dresses all chanting and humming like a nutcase, ok?" Grinning like a five-year old on his way to the circus, Eric rose from his chair, taking great care not to let the unstable old deathtrap of a rocking chair get the best of him, and walked over to his fiancé. "Thanks hun'" he said playfully, as he gave her a lingering kiss on the back of her neck, something he hadn't done in a long time. Again that secret half smile. Damn butterflies. Feels like I'm fresh in love like a teen-ager again. Must be this place working its Irish magic or something.
Watching Eric ascend the stairway to his heaven a flickering candle in his right hand, Lisa couldn't help smiling to herself again. Yeah, you climb boyo, the view from here is quite enjoyable. Suppressing a giggle, and at the same time sparing a surprised moment musing over the origin of that denied giggle, she turned her wondering toward this new cot of theirs.
From out of the blue, it had practically fallen into their laps at a most convenient time. To think we were about to break up. They had grown so accustomed to the other's presence, that moments such as the one they had just shared just passed by, unnoticed, unappreciated. This would change, she promised herself; biting her lower lip, while fingering the mag on her lap.
Shortly after moving into their new home, things had started to happen between them. Small moments, brief surges hinting of memories from their first meetings, their first kiss, momentous happenings, all connected to the feelings they had shared at that time. As if by magic, she thought, ruefully. To think magic was required to repair their relationship spoke volumes about just how bad it had really had become. Yesterday, seeing Eric outside chopping wood like a lumberjack from the fairy-tales, his lean body glistening with sweat, she had gotten so turned on that she'd had to escape the scene to prevent rape there and then. Not that he would've objected. She was just not feeling secure anymore, what with all these strange yearnings from the past showing up like a hungry demon on her shoulder.
A small sigh escaping her lips, she too rose from her chair and padded into the kitchen. Yeah. Here I am, messing about in the kitchen like the industrious housewife, while he's up there digging around in old books of mumbo-jumbo and whatnot, a silly grin on his face. Still, as she started tapping water for the dishes, one side of her mouth slowly quirked into a half smile. Dammit.
The Court
Savoring the new smells, letting the subtle changes in the weaving of energies covering the entire woodlands settle over him, the unseen observer let go of an exited giggle, before capering back into the green cover of trees and ancient undergrowth. The Court would be intrigued with these news, he concluded. Tidings of new occupants, so close to the border of their realm were rare. Those who tried to make homes of the shacks and small houses ringing the Forest either lived there to old age took them away, or made their stays strangely short, often followed by a near frantic business of getting out and away as fast as humanly possible. Yes, intrigued indeed, mayhap even a bit anxious? Ahh, the taste of royal intrigues! Much pleasure will come of this occurrence, I'm sure. Yes, mischief in unholy amounts, oh the joy!
Moving like a wayward wind through the forest, the observer made no dry leaves crackle, nor did he disturb even a single blade of grass. A bird noted his hurried passage without as much as pausing in the process of feeding its demanding offspring. Such beings were oft seen gliding through the woods after all, a trail of fey, life-giving power traveling in their wakes, accompanied by hints of alien smells and music. Popping another bumblebee into the gaping beak of a specifically hungry chick, the bird took to flight, singing a melody learned from one such as he whose passage had triggered the urge to sing. A silent breath of the wind later and a chorus of birdsong could be heard across the whole forest, every single bird whistling the same tune.
Short story by Thomas Selnes
Read 618 times
Written on 2006-10-05 at 03:29
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