Suddenly, miraculously, she had shrunk down, her weight even closer to Zero now as she’s checking. Crocogator watched from atop one of the floating ducks in the distance, somewhat disappointed the tale hadn’t gone on. But Story Room calls. Residents.
The world becomes solid. The curtain closes slightly more, just a slither.
Suddenly we are in a different place altogether.
Hmph. How’d I get over here??
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0513, Colorado, River, West Virginia
She doesn’t think about it much these days except perhaps when she’s on the john, with a better view of the thing. F/A-18C Hornet BA v. 2.2-8, she learned and memorized for those who’d inevitably ask about it upon hearing where she lived. “No, no one was hurt,” also usually had to be said after a follow-up question, those that didn’t remember the details of the crash. “Yes, we’re fine,” sometimes had to be added.
They were on vacation at the time, more properly, a “staycation” — 1/2 and 1/2 (here we go). Chet stayed home at night to look after the dogs while Phyllis spread all her creative stuff out at the Holiday Begin motel in Myrtle. Chet drove back and forth each day. Chet was always dressed for the holidays so it didn’t have to be a full time thing for him, or at least that was his rationale for the 1/2 and 1/2 deal instead of just staying put with her at the beech, a 35 minute drive. Plus the dogs, he’d always say. But, in truth, he was delving deep down into the mythology of Willy Wonka, strangely called Willa Wonky in those days in late August Mays, before the advent of videotapes and widespread distribution. “It almost wasn’t made,” he said after arriving one fine morning — well, all days, she recalled, were superb during her stay. 70s for a high; not too hot, not too chilly. Nary a rain cloud in sight. Just perfect. Room temperature.
Shortly after the staycation was over and all were back home together again (happy dogs!), he found the virtual chocolate factory, not come across before because it wasn’t attached to the search word “Wonka” he had been using in his Our Second Lyfe research. Then he found more in the same sim: an ode to a TV series called “Once Upon a Time” he’d strangely not heard of, despite its relative popularity as well as being created by some of the same writers involved in “LOST’, one of his favorites. He, per usual these days, sent Shelley in to explore further.
Upon teleporting into Chet’s earmarked spot, Shelley thought she saw a giant rat’s tail quickly slither into the hole in front of her. She had to follow; rules of the explorer.
She walked past the thing (just a *mouse*, she tried to calm herself, despite its enormity), trying to hide her fear and staying away from it and its food as much as possible.
Just by it, the walk turned into a sprint to finish. She was inside.
“I have a tale to tell, I have a tale to tell!” the mouse called after her. But didn’t follow. He smelled a reptile in that direction: danger.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0512, NWES Island, River
“Amos T. Sandman,” I spoke from the side. “I kind of figured you’d end up in a circus.”
“Welp,” the colorful dancing clown replied, “I had no religion to preach any longer what with the demise of the Cheesers. What else was left for me? I have subjects; that’s the important thing. Right Fluffie, Spoilsport, Clyde?” he spoke to the various clowns around him presently. He danced in a circle (acknowledging each one?) toward the central top hat on a trunk, the cane, the cards.
“Turn it over, Baker,” he seemed to request about the mystery one before him. “See what *your* next subject is. I bet it’s not an ace. That’s already been done; that would be heading backwards.” He danced back forwards. “Or sideways or something, black and red, clubs and spades, doesn’t matter.” He picks up the cane besides the cards to augment the dance in spots. Then the top hat itself upon a next whirl. Then, a final twirl and swoop, the mystery card itself, which became all cards when turned over, instantly halting the charade. He had shown his true face.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0510, HANA LEI
Why was he painting the roses red? It should have been white to cover up his mistakes. Yet Willa Wonky died and he has blood on his hands… and arms and chest and face and so on. No going back. He ate the chocolate.
An image flashed in his mind from the past. Wheeler did too! Or was it Shelley?
Anyway, suddenly everything switches with this and he’s painting red roses white instead of the other way around. Willy Wonka lives!
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0509, HANA LEI, Heterocera
Pitch eventually found Wheeler in another one of those Hana Lei lands, specifically designed for kids this go around. And that’s how our Shelley Struthers, now reverted to a child — at least temporarily — got involved.
“What happened to her face?” Pitch asked Shelley after they were able to separate away from Wheeler for some private talk. “It’s like, I don’t know, 2 things superimposed on each other that don’t belong.”
“Yeah, the blonde hair,” Shelley agreed. Then she explained that it went back to when Wheeler was underneath the chocolate all that time, lapping it up like some kind of deranged dog. “Must have done something to her complexion.”
“Hmm,” Pitch said to this. “Shouldn’t she, then, I don’t know, turn *brown* or something?” Not blonde, he additionally thought.
“Might not work like that,” quickly answered small Shelley, already wise way beyond her age. For she wasn’t really she in the hallucination. This is kind of combining several layers into one, smooshing them altogether like a club sandwich in a vise. Thus the picture of the faces in the carnival poseboard, I believe they call them. To illustrate or symbolize the change (another flattening).
But this might be better: Wheeler preparing to take a ride on the Olympia Looping roller coaster, drawn in by the 4 colors of TILE displayed all around. “TILE” she said to the attendant after he asked for her ticket. Jim Crochet Wedding Dress let her ride anyway, little voice in his ear telling him so. The Big Boss, or at least one of the Big Bosses, Wonka I believe. Or Wonky. Wonky like Willa, ha ha. OK, I’ll stop, Wheeler. So getting back to her (always her, never me it seems lately), she takes a ride, but she also calls over a companion. “Arthur, I need you Arthur,” she said in the message accompanying the teleport offer. “I need you more than ever.” Take in what happens when I trip the light fantastic, she added to herself. Because she knew she’d see stars; they were just that bonded by this point. She’d write all this up from the perspective of Edward later on, about 2:01 in the morning, she’s guessing. Always seems to be that or around that.
“What happened to your face?” he asked upon showing up.
“Never mind that, I’ll change before we start looping.” And he got in beside her, ready for a start. With her deformed mug still in place, she kissed.
“I love you Wheeler!” he shouted before the TILE colors even came into play: still on orange. All Orange, as it turned out. The rest was mere refraction from the whole.
Pitch just stood there at the bottom beside Jim, wondering what happened to Shelley as he watched blue turn into red turn into green turn into yellow to end the looping. All grown up again and gone? he wondered. He’d find out soon enough (here come the cars).
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0508, HANA LEI
“Oh for goodness sake, Wheeler. Raise yourself out of that stuff. You’re going to drown doing that!”
“Mmmmmph… mmmmph,” she gurgled, mouth continuing to be full of goodness and sunshine. No more going back! “Mmmmmph. Mmmph.”
“*Here*. Let me help you.”
—–
“Gee Wheeler. You’re really stuck in there!”
“Mmmph. MmmMMMMMmmmph.”
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0506, HANA LEI
She’d lost her landmark so she just teleported into the center of the sim. She knew her mother would be nearby.
“Lost again?” she said upon seeing Alice materialize about 15 feet away: 128/128 she knew; wasn’t uncommon for someone to beam in there. “Well come over and sit beside me and be found again, saved even. I want to tell you about–”
“Don’t start Mother. I’m not here for religion.”
Pause. “Then what are you here for? You know I’m working. Joe Smo due any moment. There.” She nods toward the horizon, pretending to see someone. “Office Johnston coming this way, along with Preacher Ben and Farmer Louis. All out for a good time, all sinners underneath holy cloth and whatnot — I don’t know, maybe the caffeine talking, child. So what gives? Money?”
“*No*. It’s not always about money.”
Maw takes a drag off her cigarette, still staring into the distance. “Where you staying now, girl? You haven’t been home–”
“6 weeks, I know.”
Maw takes a final drag, drops the half smoked cig to the leaf strewn cement and steps on it. “Don’t guess you’re going to tell me where you’ve been, hmm. Ashamed of your Maw, huh. Ashamed of what she’s become. Well, I have *dreams*.”
“I know, Maw. Lavern and Shirley. Just thinking about that this morning.” Alice tries to look where her mother is looking. Still nothing — no one there.”
“Rumors of a beer factory (being built) up in Barrow County, I’ve heard. Could be moving again soon, child. But what do you care? You don’t have any friends here. Not any more. Who did they lock up last week, the psychic children and all. Wanda? Gloria? Wait — they’ve been gone a while from me. Beach combers. Well — at least *you* stayed.” She thought about Alice’s recent absence from her side again. “Kind of I suppose. Soo…”
“I’m glad of the factory, if it’s true.” Alice really was. She wanted her mother to fulfill her dream. And business had been slow here lately, she knew, what with the law enforcement crack down. Crack came first, along with the rest of the hard drugs. Then it moved to prostitution and liquor, perhaps in that order. The officers were still loosey-goosey on the whoring but it had already scared most of the men away, her regular clientele and such. Bob the Baker — hadn’t been by in a week. Joe the Smo — wait, I made him up. Dennis the, not Menace — no, a farmer. Wait…
“I came here because of Robert,” Alice uttered while I was still spacing out about nonsense, making up names, making up games the made up names play. Tennis for Dennis, golf for Rolph, archery for Yvette Archer (Archer, Y.). “Robert, huh?” Maw finally responded, thinking about lighting another one. “Robert Johnston I suppose.”
“*No*. Not *him*. Robert Leferber.”
“Is that how you spell that? I mean…” her Maw quickly backtracked, “… pronounce that?”
“Robert Lefarber,” Alice tested. “Robert Lafoger, Lafager, Lafageux. Damn those French names.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about, honey.” Another cig from the carton, quick in the mouth, quick for a light.
“*Anyway*, the guy who owned the swamp.”
Maw almost swallowed her just lit cig. “*Matthew*??”
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0306, Paper Soap+, Soap
It was still there, the chest that had caused so much trouble. A drifter had drifted in, seeing no one home, no one around (green dots). “Get a role in Our Second Lyfe!” her Maw implored. She: a ho. Well defined, worked 9-5 — PM to AM instead of the normal visa versa — came home and slept till 12, made lunch, watched some soaps in the afternoon (Soap!), then some game shows after that, then the news, then supper, another game show and 2 reruns of classic sitcoms, “Happy Days” and “Lavern and Shirley” I believe. She really identified with the character of Shirley, if so. Working gal with a *slight* drinking problem. She wanted to work in a beer factory like these 2 lower middle class Milwaukee gals; that was her goal. Ho-ing in Soap was just leading to that, like her soaps were just a lead in to the nighttime shows featuring, at the end, Shirley. Then it was off to work, usually after toasting her on-screen hero with her own favorite beer, Duff being the current fad, the famous Springfeld product of course. But, ironically, her Maw didn’t know anything about the Smipsons, reality getting mixed up and confused with fantasy, dreams with physical. Then one day, on her way to work at her most common post at the downtown motel, she found a book, marble on the front…
Her Maw always trailed off when telling that story. “I found you in a hole in the wall,” she always said about her 2nd child, 3rd by Mouse if you count Wanda. And where were all her sisters and brothers and half siblings? Some had perished in the Great War — who didn’t lose family members to that awful awful conflict? Last she heard Gloria was working at some beach. Maybe Wanda is there too, she pondered. Maybe *I* should be there too, then. The great threesome together again, the Trinity we called each other back in the day. Marsha and Bill and John and Peter and Isabella and Jason Foxchild the Third were always outsiders staring into this holy triad of siblings. They protected and consoled each other during the war. And, Alice felt, another type of war was coming. She needed to settle down.
So back to the chest. Borneo, she knew. One of the 4 sacred corners of… something. A hypercube, she’d heard, maybe from her Maw who learned about it through a client, a well positioned Soap resident with the money to uncover such secrets in whatever God forsaken land they hide, Iowa and its vast, empty cornfields necessarily included.
Borneo, she thought, trying to get a grasp on the thing, the planes, the edges, the corners. Yes, she’d heard about it through her Maw who learned about it through Robert (well positioned Soap resident) when she showed him the book. A photo lies within — one of her Maw. Robert kept it there. And now it’s here. And so is she. Soo sleepy…
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0305, Paper Soap+, Soap
Something weird was found the next morning. A wave that wouldn’t crash, and on the other side of the beach from the surfing ones. What gives? Al thinks.
Suddenly 2 killers appear from down the road. “Bang!” he shouts while trying to shoot them dead, quickly followed by “Dang! Forgot to bring the real one.” He’ll have to fight them by hand. Then the immense rolling noise stops and he instead stares straight ahead, wave gone. Mirage?
The killers wink out too. Killed the wave instead? Perhaps he needs more rest. Yes, that’s it. Head back to bed, Al. Back to the beach. You’re dreaming. Head back into yourself and then you can wake up properly. Tom in his head now, he realized. He’d had a rough night of sleeping.
He dreamed that child Shelley owned a rocking horse she loved more than anything else in the world besides her cats and maybe *maybe* her Mom. Made by the same people, by the way, that created that TILE towel rack positioned beside the grown up version of her in that earlier post here. TILE rack, then, like Al had a ball. The mystery continues…
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0304, HANA LEI
“Okay I’m here on the beach beside the TILE ball, Tom. I’ve got you on speaker so I can keep reading this interesting magazine in front of me. Perhaps clues in there, you understand.” Al didn’t really believe there were any clues in there. He just liked the articles advertised on the cover. All about Home — he wished he had a true home and not just continue to be a traveler of both time and space. He desired to settle down, like the old days, fast becoming the *good* old days.
After the reply: “About 8:01 PM it looks by the sun. Roughly speaking.”
Reply.
“No. No one on the beach except me. No surfers spotted, no one.”
Reply.
“It’s a pretty beach. Pretty long that is (*snicker*).”
Reply.
“No time for jokes, I understand. Jokes later.”
Reply.
“I’ll get settled in. I guess I’ll just bed down here for the night. Then start up the road tomorrow after I check out the beach more in the morning. Maybe I’ll get to interact with someone then.” Al didn’t doubt that his boss Thomasina was onto something sending him here. TILE was strong — he could feel it, as he does. ‘No orange, no purple, let’s make this shit happen,’ he recalls about the sacred manuscript. And here, supposedly, is the amender of such, the bringer of cow and a lot of other things. Won’t have any shorts left, Thomasina said. Al was looking for a little yellow naked fellow. But he was wrong on that.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0303, HANA LEI
Sunklands 