Daily Archives: December 11, 2019

night hike

I stared over at what I assumed was the rising sun, stunning; pink.

I looked back from whence I had just trekked and spotted the fire tree, high on a summit.

This place was special. I didn’t know if I would be coming back….

Walking through the ruined village gave me chills. What does this mean?

This reminded me of something. An Omega place. Omegatown. I wish the sun would hurry up and rise properly to guide me home!

The wee person’s house, probably (belonging to) Norris himself. And now they’re also with me!

I can see my home now…

… but how to get down from here?

And where did the f-ing sun go?? Must have been the moon.

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point 02

I sat there, on my point, watching the odd glow in the distance. Blocks of glow, actually. She approached from behind.

“So you see it too,” she said to end the vision, as if her very voice dispelled it. I looked around. Ruby Fantasie (!).

“Ho-how?”

“Cool tree,” she spoke amidst my studdering, looking over at the live oak. “*Baker Bloch*.”

Of course I invited her inside for tea and cake. She said she just wanted coffee. *Hot* coffee. Ruby Fantasie! And she always declared she would never stay here during the winter. “Circumstances change,” she spoke in a “normal” voice to me, completely absent of the usual, thick Jamaican accent. This is how she instantly knew who I was: Baker Bloch. The user was the only one she lost the accent with, we learned back in photo-novel 12.

“Where do you live here?” I queried politely. Don’t say here, don’t say here! I thought.

“Ebonshire,” she answered, making me wipe sweat off my brow inwardly.

“Oh, that’s nice.”

She moved her coffee away from her mouth, gauging me. “You thought I was going to say here — didn’t you?”

“Maybe,” I quipped back reflexively and defensively. Why did I say “maybe.” I should have said “no.” But somehow I couldn’t lie to her. We were tight that way. User and usee.

She looked around. “It’s okay. I know you have enough problems now with the wee ones.”

So she knows about *them* as well, I speculated, envisioning an axial alliance between Jamacian witch and gremlin-ish wees, like Norris. The handshake: big black on small white.

“What wee ones?” I decided to lie better but was instantly seen through. I suddenly felt stupid… and alone. Ruby Fantasie had vanished before my eyes. I knew she wouldn’t return until I wised up.

(to be continued)

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point

I was putting up birdhouses today on my new property, too lazy to even change out of my Purple (and) Bear costume. Maybe that *was* my identity here, though. *I* am the Purple (and) Bear. Perhaps I own both this place (Sanctuary Point, after the sim plus the location description) and the old quarry. Or maybe the old quarry is where I come from. In the past. Where the mist got me. Maybe mist with a “y”; maybe capitalized but maybe not. Maybe the mist doesn’t like you capitalizing it in writing. Maybe it exacts its toll even a bit more if you do so. I must be careful. But yet — what could be wronger than the curse I’m presently under! A purple bear! Banished from my circle of friends. Confined to an old quarry and, now, a neighboring peninsular point far far away from a societal center. It’s out here away from the capital that Rosehaven’s *myst*eries are fully revealed; uncloaked. I must be vigilant for more changes.

“Hello!”

The piping voice, sounding of helium, was far far away yet somehow quite near. I looked around — no one here.

“Hell-o, hell-oooo!”

I then spotted him in the giant live oak tree, the centerpiece of the property actually. Beside the birdhouse I had just set up on one of its massive, sprawling limbs.

“Hel-loo!”

It took him a short while to start forming actual sentences and just stop chirping greetings (maybe the creature was part bird?) but I eventually got out that he thought the house he sat beside was too small for his needs. Or the rest of his clan. The wee ones.

The next time he showed up he brought along architectural drawings. Turns out this was his land as well as mine, or so he claimed.

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