Category Archives: 0039

00390706

They walked away from the peak overlooking Coyote Pass, not holding hands yet but feeling closer than ever because of what they’d just witnessed, the girl for the girl and, likewise, the boy’s death for the observing boy. Deep down, they realized it could have been them. Oh, not by hypnotizing orange trees like with humans Al and Sarah, but something else Mid-Hazel could have concocted especially with mechanoids in mind. And they also came to realized they were suppose to replace these 2, just from the act of being witnesses to the awful spectacle. Tom knew what could come to pass — at the Pass — when he lured them here. “Take a well deserved vacation,” he said to the 2, fresh off their saving of River by turning everything dark and muddled there into light and clear and *clean*. No more chocolate mess. They had worked together there and they would work together in the future to handle a bigger crisis. The pollution of the whole original Bellisseria continent by evil forces of sickening sugary designs much vaster.

“How about the Western Hills of Bellisseria?” he said to them in his office that morning, even providing the pair some scenic landmarks that he said Al had scouted out in his visit there (see first of this here photo-novel). Top of the list: Coyote Canyon Overlook. He *knew*. And so they saw. He didn’t tell them because all lie in a probable reality still, and, anyway, there was nothing they could do about it directly. “Just observe,” they can hear him say as an afterthought in their heads now, after the tragedy was over. Later on, through the pumpkins, they understood something else was involved: alien creatures of a high design indeed.

First up: Butterfingers.

END OF “SUNKLANDS 2023 MORE MIDDLE”!

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00390705

“Do you see Mid-Hazel? Is she dancing?”

“No. Can’t see her.”

“How about the pumpkineaters?”

“Still under the orange tree. Like normal. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. Hazel is probably just inside stretching again. You know she has to do it every hour or she simply freezes up, probably dies as a result.”

“Every half-hour, I’ve heard. But no time for disagreements. I see movement!”

“Blue clad Sarah in front of the littler one.”

“This could be—”

“Aww MANNN. I didn’t need to see that. Here, Boyy, you take the binoculars and keep watch while I go throw up.”

“But you have no…” Boyy was going to tell Gurl she has no internal working parts to throw up with but too late. Dry heaves over there, purely an emotional reaction to what happened below. He dares to look. He increases the magnification to the max.

Blood on the ground but no sign of Sarah, with the littler one gone too. Maybe he drug her up in the yard to finish his consumption yeck, Boyy rationalized. And, oh boy, now Al is positioned in front of the bigger pumpkineater. Mid-Hazel is clearly seen behind this time. Gurl comes back and observes naked eyed. “Is Mid-Hazel… *naked*?”

“ZOWIE!!! My turn, Gurl,” and he hands the binoculars to her and rushes to the same place in the bushes.

Al is dead, Sarah is dead. Tom is not going to be happy about the news. Two of his best agents!

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0039, 0705, Bellisaria, Western Hills

yes, it’s bad

She invited them into her trailer for more talk but there was nowhere to sit and they had to just stand and watch her accomplish her stretching exercises, saying she had to do them every half hour on the button (her archaic expression) or else her ancient body would simply start to freeze up. “A bit chained to the trailer, then,” she said. “I was just joking about the being away part before, lassie,” she spoke directly to Sarah. “I just don’t have a dot to be a presence.” Sarah checked the in-world map again in her head. Two green dots together apparently representing her and Al beside her in the sim of Coyote Canyon here. But no third. Mid-Hazel was right. What *were* they dealing with here?

“Beautiful, wasn’t I?” she said, apparently indicating the portrait of a young woman beside her, one of the few objects in the trailer besides the exercise stand and some random decorations. “Toast of Ghosttown, high in the sky it was. But not a skybox. A plateau.” She switched to about the 5th or 6th stretching position. “Almost done,” she excused the necessity. “But I may have to start again if you’re here long enough. Are you staying for dinner?” Mid-Hazel resisted the urge to joke that, “they’re it.” Plenty of time for macabre later on. Henry’s mouth outside was already salivating at the sight of the boy’s featured body. The girl he will leave to Junior (also salivating).

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0039, 0704, Bellisaria, Western Hills

no friend

“Do you like him dearest? I gave him my eyes. Well, I gave him eyes *like* mine to be specific. Buttons, see?”

Sarah jumped off the ground, turned toward the muffled voice speaker. She tried not to gasp at the sight. After all, Our Second Lyfe is full of strange avatars. But this one seemed different… realer. Scarier. “I’m… so sorry… miss. We didn’t, we didn’t…”

“See a green dot at the trailer?” Mid-Hazel completed Sarah’s thoughts, the counterpart to Al, the love of his life by now, even though she may have to be put in “storage” again until he can figure out how to get to the wedding part. He’s committed to a future date, though — whenever it can occur. “Thought you were alone at the place? Yeah, I just pop in now and then. Coincidence, we’ll call it I’m here when you’re here. Serendipity. *Synchronicity*. Are you aware of that term my dear? Do you know the meaning?”

“Yes,” she spoke, brushing her hair away from her blue eyes and trying to make herself more presentable to the… whatever it was she was facing. Old Hag? Witch? Maybe a combo of several archetypes… yes, another term she learned in her college psychology classes, Jung touched upon here there and there.

“Then you’ll know this is *fate*, this meeting is.”

Al appeared from behind some bushes. He’d heard voices but he had to finish his tinkle, nature being the harsh bitch she is (he was thinking at the time). Both turned toward him.

“Ahh, and the *man*. Always a man lurking around for a pretty thing like yourself, honey.”

Al walked up, confident that they had a right to be here because of the orange trees and because of what they found beneath them. More orange. Pumpkin orange. “I assume this is your land, um…”

“Hazel,” spoke Mid-Hazel. “The central one. Two on the end,” and she extended both arms and looked at each “hand” that wasn’t there, “but I’m the most important. They say if you’re in the middle that sometimes you’re simply in the way. And so it is.” She collapsed both extremities onto her heart to indicate herself, the center, the void in middle of it all — no hands to mask. Mid-Hazel, Witch Hazel to some, especially if you’re from the West Coast. “We were just talking about eyes, young man; my kind of eyes,” and she indicated the larger pumpkin creature again.

Suddenly Sarah was teleported about 10 yards away and then quickly walked back, thinking she did it to herself somehow. But she didn’t. She was simply standing a bit too close to him and he didn’t like it, this mustachioed fiend of the night.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0039, 0703, Bellisaria, Western Hills

00390702

“Orange trees,” spouted Al, still under a spell. “Just like the lights before, don’t you think? Come join me, Sarah, in celebrating the sight of our arrival.”

“Um… okay.” And she sat down beside him but not without internal considerations of the consequences of all this. Is she the only one between them who can see this could be a trap? Halloween was still almost 2 months away but for some, the few, the powerful, it has already start at the 1st of September. If Christmas can have the day after Halloween until sometime in January, then All Hallows’ Eve can have at least its 2 months as well before this. So says Hazel.

After about 15 minutes on the rock, he gets up. “Shall we proceed?”

“I… guess so.”

(to be continued)

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00390701

“It’s said in olden days, Sarah, that that square island-rock down there was used as a sacrificial altar. Some say it still is.”

“Pumpkineaters — yes I’ve heard of them. A hate group some call them. But not me.”

Al turned, but not to kiss this time. Kill? “Why not?” he said, disbelieving his ears. “I mean–”

“I know I know,” she tried to explain, wishing she’d never voiced her opinion on the subject now. “Little Jack Sprout.” Should she go ahead and say it? Why not (to echo Al)? “They never found the body.”

Al bounces up off the log, looks down on her. “They found his *clothes*. They found his little orange *hat*. Heck, they even found his *shoes*. No body?? Why would you even need a body with all that?” He turns toward the lake. “He’s probably at the bottom there, down in the rocks below where no one can see. Opaque Lake — not named that for nothing.” Even though, Al realized through the anger, that, yes indeed, he could see some of the bottom on the shallower side. Not quite opaque, although getting there. Maybe the sediment clouding the water has settled or something, he rationalized.

“And the gesture,” he continued, “the last gasp. They have it on film.”

“They have a re-*creation* of it on film.” Sarah had dug this hole, now she was going to stand in it. Fake footage we’re talking about here. Evidence split into 3, with the 1st conveniently missing and the second maybe conveniently faked, maybe the real reason for the 2nd even extends to the 3rd which would be the last, case, well, opened *up* again. She said all this to Al.

His love for Sarah already ran deep and clear. He started to reconsider.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0039, 0701, Bellisaria, Western Hills

00390616

“Such an interesting light show, Al.”

“I thought you might like this spot. Sarah.” He turns, leans in for a kiss.

In Coyote Canyon in the middle of these Western Hills of the 1st Bellisseria continent, Mid-Hazel prepares to die, as she’s done the past 100 years it seems. But, as visiting Herbert Glenn Gold speculated earlier in the present photo-novel — fast drawing to a close — this time it might be for real. Pre-Abyss Absorption here I come at long last, she might be thinking in the picture below.

She is not alone at her wannabe death bed trailer.

Hand in hand, the couple walks toward Opaque Lake in decreasing darkness.

Wait a minute: *pumpkins*??

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0039, 0616, Bellisaria, Western Hills

00390615

And so we end with a waterfall which turns into a new river, replacing the old. Clean to filthy. Clear to chocolate. The overarching sim of River has been redeemed and revitalized from the top (4000m) down. In other words, the Void has spoken.

“Hey,” says Tronesisia to her quickly drying robot companions, prying her vision away from surfboarding Bart on the falls — couldn’t pass up the opportunity. “Check out the little clockwork people coming out of the building over there. Wonder if they have anything to do with this?

“Let’s go over and make friends.”

“Oh boy,” says my hot ass computer, ha, supporting 4 avatars in 4 separate windows at once.

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additional River scenes

“Are you going to light a candle for him, Archie?”

“Nah I’m just checking out his junk.”

“Awesome. Soo. Do you not like Freddie Mercury or something?”

“Of course, dude. The guy that wrote ‘Stairway to Heaven’!”

“Ummm.”

—–

“I’ve let you down, Robert. I’ve become a big fat blueberry again.”

Robert looked over, didn’t see a blueberry girl. He saw himself. In another for a change. “I… forgive?”

“No this can’t be forgiven what I’ve done,” she insisted. “I want you to just go ahead and puncture me. Stab me with your stabby thing. Just get it over with. I need to be dejuiced.”

Again, Robert didn’t see anything to “dejuice”. Just a woman, lonely, bad self image, needing a change, trapped in a job with, overall, negative energy pervading. Kind of like…

“I’ll remember your smile,” he said, again surprising himself with his empathy. “You were, an ordinary person to me at the time. No crazy. I was tired of crazy, see. The looks in the eyes.”

“I read from your collection,” she said, wiping her eyes of tears, wiping her nose a bit, shoving back the black hair from the blue-purple face. She was tired of her hair. She was going to get it cut, maybe dyed again. She wanted to be someone different. “I read about… me.”

—–

“I know who you are. Just go ahead and do it. Change. Admit the similarity.”

“Cold in here,” she tries to deflect, then gives up. “Oh, o-*kay*.”

—–

“Where did *this* come from??”

“Relax Bulby,” assured calm Tronesisia to the left. “We’re waterproof.”

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0039, 0614, River

not yet

https://hyperallergic.com/842222/who-did-this-to-basquiats-old-manhattan-studio/

Doodlehedz can still see underneath the Pink. She hasn’t given up hope.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0039, 0613, New York