Tag Archives: April Mae Flowers^^

surprise

“A what?”

“A rock star,” husband Monsieur Gold repeated to his wife April Mae. “I could tell it was me because I was driving the narrow boat-plane again.”

“Steve, you can take away these dishes now. We’re done.”

“Yes, mum.”

“Go on with your dream you had, dearest.”

“Well… I was also a cannibal. Ate human flesh. Involved a haunted hotel with a secret story room.”

“Storage room,” April Mae corrected.

“Yeah.”

“That’s interesting. Cannibal, eh? Like Claude. Down in Schism.”

“I suppose.” Why is Steve the Gardener serving us our food today? Monsieur Gold asked himself. *This* must be the dream. He decided to test it.

“What day is this?”

“Wednesday, dear. You know that.”

But it was Monday. And Steve the Gardener didn’t have a wooden hand yesterday.

“How was your trip to the cemetery? I forgot to ask you.” *Why* did I forget to ask her? he thought again. Was the cemetery even *real*?

“Fine. You’ll be glad to know the ex is still dead and in his grave. Won’t be resurrected anytime soon.”

“That’s good. Vampires are the worst.”

“I know. Try being married to one for 736 years.”

“Claude again.”

“Yeah.”

But Claude was a cannibal dog and not a cannibal human, so logically he could never be a vampire. Monsieur Gold grabbed a knife from cleaning Steve’s wooden hand and cut his wrist, sawed at it even until his hand was severed from it and dropped to the floor in several, sickening beats. Yet there was no pain. Monsieur Gold then grasped Steve’s wooden hand, popped it off in one swift action, and then attached it to his own wrist, wriggling the fingers satisfactorily. April Mae acted surprised but not shocked. She looked at the now handless Steve. “He knows about us,” is what she came up with.

But Monsieur Gold never woke up, which was much more surprising. He lived with his new hand for the rest of his life. And he never saw Steve again after the gardener/manservant gathered up the other hand under the table and left the mansion in a huff.

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Filed under *Second Life, Purden/Snowlands

isolated

They had finished their meals and were eating dessert by sunset. Hardly a word had been passed between the husband and wife all the time. Finally, after several spoonfuls of gelatin instant pudding: “Who’s in the cave with Mabel and Tessa, Herbert?” No immediate answer from her husband, so April Mae ventured some guesses. “Could it be… Jethro? Bauer?”

Monsieur Gold set his spoon down rather noisily on the table with this. No, not *Jethro*… *Bauer,* he thought, but also admitted to himself that he was blocked in that direction.

“I didn’t mean…”

“I know what you meant.”

They ate in silence for a spell again. Then: “I’m going to the cemetery tomorrow,” spoke April Mae. “I haven’t been in almost 3 weeks.”

“Suit yourself,” came the quick followup. “Make sure you fill the narrow boat-plane with gas before bringing it back.” He dare not request the other thing in his mind; that she *please* *please* be careful with it this time and don’t run into that God cursed dune again, which just happens to be jutting up in the middle of God awful nowhere for some reason. Away from the rest of the Omega continent peaks.

—–

“I think I’ll take the gardener with me this time.”

“Why don’t you do that.”

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Filed under *Second Life, Mountain Lake, Purden/Snowlands

missing 03

“So both women were missing,” spoke Parasol as they walked through the snowy landscape.

“Good and evil, yeah.”

“Like me, then.”

They walked a bit further, then Monsieur Gold realized he had to say something: choose. “No, we’re good, we’re good,” he finally reinforced.

—–

Monsieur Gold woke up in his mansion, wife April Mae surprisingly by his side. She was propped up, staring at him. “Dreaming again?” He nodded. “Which was it this time, jungle, snow or desert?”

“All three,” he admitted while stretching. “What time is it?”

“5:15.”

He looks around the room. “Where’s the tv?”

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Filed under *Second Life, Purden/Snowlands, Rosehaven

Parasol 03

He sat on the throne a long time after he finished. He didn’t want to go back down. April Mae was pissed because *he* was pissed, one of those vicious cycles. But what did he really have besides the narrow boat-plane? She had her clothes, her friends, her furniture, her… paintings. Were they really her paintings? No, they had bought them together. The paintings were his as well. Kind of. Split, I suppose.

But… the scratch. Nay, more than a scratch, a scar. Car scar. She said she just ran into the dune — didn’t see it looming up in front of her when overshooting the cemetery. And why does she have to go out there to the Omega continent to visit her ex so often? She’s got *me* now. I’m the important, *living* one. She has to help protect *me*.

—–

Instead of going downstairs to continue arguing with his wife, Monsieur Gold decides to walk over to his study on the other side of the second floor to check his email account. Eventually, inevitably, he’s draw again to play that game on the laptop he’s so addicted to. We’ve seen it before: Gunn Mobile Home Trailer Park. He plays for about an hour until he’s pretty certain April Mae has simmered down. On his way to the stairs, he pauses to contemplate Monet’s “Woman with a Parasol” at the end of the hallway, one of two versions displayed in the mansion. One for him, one for his wife. Split.


“Oh. Hello dear. Sorry about before.”

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Filed under *Second Life, Purden/Snowlands

all the stops

April Mae Flowers had always been clamped onto husband Septimius Felton during life. But death freed her. Was she the same as Misty? Sorry to be asking so many questions, but we are at the beginning of something new. Different. Notice the narrow boat again in the background of this post’s first picture? That kind of thing. But quickly masked over by snow and death and gloom. Back to AMF…

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Filed under *Second Life, Mountain Lake