I stayed in the decaying shack for many nights, steeping in twilight and sleeping within caches of secreted darkness. I dreamed into the structure’s cobwebbed corners and soft rotting wood, hoping to record the impressions of the things that walked with me in sleep—to be available for others who might be summoned to this place of old bones and secrets. Having soaked up as much darkness as I was able, I abandoned the shack to the ghost of its past. As I wandered the woods I eventually stumbled upon the faintest scratch of a road. I moved along the path and wondered about the names on the list. I couldnt help but speculate that the list was given to me by the Queen of the Deadworld, herself. I had, after all, just delivered one of her acolytes to the other side of sleep, returning to dream what was once stolen by flesh. Yet the whole thing seemed wholly out of fashion with the devices of her cold intents, as nothing within this silent calling felt like anything other than a warm and wonderful dream. So I began my hunt with the dying sun bleeding across my face, feeling as if my body had become nearly weightless, leaving only the artist behind—nothing but a dream of quiet knives and endless transformations. Strangely, in the midst of a milling pack of trees, where the forest had nearly healed from the small worn path, there was a nameless restaurant. I knew it as such by the rotting plaque that hung over its disintegrating door: Come in and try our daily special. I had not yet eaten and found it to be a suitable place to enjoy my lunch, so I entered. My supplies were still ample, if the selection scant, but I was never a picky eater. I chose a place at the broken lunch counter and began to eat. I withdrew one of the articles I found in the shack and scanned it. The title read: the ‘Family Man’ suspected in the death of nine. I had once let slip, to the artist I mentioned earlier, a small particle of my history. He was a kinetic bit of art – still breathing and in awe of what he had become – and supplied my admirers with the information I had imparted, and thus my new name was born. While, clearly, I am more than the mere sum of my familys bones (although they persist as my best works to date), I do rather enjoy the name. The next article I selected concerned a church that had been built (three years ago by the date supplied in the article). One of the carpenters who had contributed to the effort was named (and circled) in the article: Hayden Trill. ( I generally dont do things in any particular order, but it was nice that he was the next person on my list.) I knew – felt – that the city with the church must be nearby and so I packed up my family and left the nameless restaurant with a full stomach and mind.
Posted on: Fri, 02 Jan 2015 22:25:14 +0000
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