“Sure you don’t want next game, Grandpa?”
“No, Tessa, thank you.” Because he was looking for someone.
Within.
Tag Archives: Herbert (Mssr.) Gold^*+++
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 own 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.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0012, 0305, 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.”
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0012, 0301, Mountain Lake^, Purden/Snowlands^
Storisende
John Cage had come to feel
That art in our time
Was far less important
Than our daily lives
~ “Tiger the Lion” by The Tragically Hip
“So here we are. At the appropriately named Ebonshire. This is as far as you’ve ever gone Monsieur Gold. You are almost ready to transition. See over there?” Parasol indicates across the water to her left. “End of the tale. Tiger. Are you ready?”
But then Monsieur Gold was gone, in a flash. From the other direction, several deer look on, thinking her crazy for talking to herself.
—–
Just later, Parasol goes to confer with the Monster of the Sea about the next step.
—–
“Thank you my friend.”
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0012, 0214, Canada/Picturetown, Rose Heaven^^
rat tales
Dr. Brown knew a thing or two about sniffing out mysteries. He’d been doing so most of his life, especially a particular one involving the Cult of the Three Suns. Clues had been flying in from all directions recently. And now another had fallen in his lap: a pregnant Pat or Patrick Starr, connected with *North Yd* of all places (pronounced like “North Wide” just so you’ll know). Tilers, he thought from his secret underground lair, far far away (spatially and temporally) from the simpletons at Eotia Village. Squid people. Opposite sides of the circle, one dead and stuffed, the other living and breathing and… preaching. Vicious cycle — no, not vicious — *natural*, a comes around, goes around sort of idea. But now he had to find Tessa. She was the key.
Less than a half year ago; North Yd:
“The tile here indicates safety, however,” her grandpa reinforced. “Safe to split up, then. You examine the buildings that way,” — Grandpa Gold points behind Tessa — “and I’ll work my way around from this end — counterclockwise — until we meet up somewhere in the middle. Is that okay?”
—–
—–
I could spend the rest of my life staring at these walls and learning nothing else. I can’t believe all of the months from my past I did so. Nascera, he thought bitterly. Turns out nothing’s here. Nothing atall.
Even Reginald appears to be gone.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0012, 0202, Nascera^^, The Waste^^
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?”
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0012, 0115, Purden/Snowlands^, Rose Heaven^^
missing 02
He didn’t want to, but Monsieur Gold really had no other choice but the fuel up at Widow’s Lair since Sparky (Sally Spark O Naut, again) was nowhere to be found and there was no self service at her station. He’d been here once before. He didn’t like the scene. But the Lying Widow was gone as well. Thank God in Brown Heaven.
He had pumped his gas and was about to leave…
… when he noticed the hole across the road. Let’s see, he realized, that would be just beyond the southwest corner of Burnt Oak… like Sparky’s is just beyond the northeast corner of same. I wonder if the two gas station owners — good and evil — planned it that way, Monsieur Gold pondered. Almost a perfect opposition. And both are *missing* now.
—–
Meanwhile… inside…
“Tell us what happened Lying Widow,” demanded Axis the Tin Tin Soldier Man, Clubby by his side as usual. “You must have seen them go in. You see *everything* with those big peepers of yours.”
“I’m not saying anything,” she barked gruffly while struggling with the ropes. “You can burn me like a witch and I’ll cook to my grave without speaking. Talk is cheap. Go ahead and kill me.”
Axis TTSM smiled toward his demonic sidekick. “We’re going to do better than that, Lying Widow. We’re going to seal you in here. You’ll be trapped as much as the two traitors whose identity we have yet to learn. Thanks to your uncooperation.”
“Kill me,” Lying Widow demanded. “Kill me!” she pleaded as they exited The Bar at the End of Time, laughing maniacally. “Kill me!!” she screamed as their footsteps died down the corridor.
—–
Later:
“Add a couple of trees, some chairs, half an old car, and noone will be the wiser this was *ever* opened up, Clubby. Case *closed*.”
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0012, 0114, The Waste^^
missing
I’ve looked everywhere on God’s beige earth for them. But I’m not going down there to North Yd to check. Not after what I saw last year with Tessa. Gold to Platinum.
Better head back home in the narrow boat-plane. Maybe refuel first over at Sparky’s since it’s nearby.
—–
Ooops! Knocked over a couple of gas pumps again. Oh well. Nothing scars this old babe. Except that cursed dune of April Mae’s. Must be some kind of magic dune, and in the wrong way, hmph. Probably some voodoo connected to the aberrant Omega continent itself. “Sparky!” Monsieur Gold calls through the station’s open door while honking his horn. “Sparky! It’s happened again!”
Now where is *she*?
“Zoidboro!” cries little Raphaelia Jenkinson from a nearby garage bay, flickering merrily in her red dress beside similarly wind-blow, yellow cat Ziggy Dustbowl. “Zoidboro!” she repeats.
In the basin immediately below…
… Sally the Spark O Naut (“Sparky”) has waited a long time for Reverend Zoidboro to start preaching. Two days, in fact, since this is Tuesday. But she’s decked up in her Sunday best and dearly hates to needlessly change clothes.
5 more minutes, she thinks. Maybe 5 hours.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0012, 0113, The Waste^^
The left side now takes control…
“They wouldn’t let me in, Parasol. At least not with my mansion I so love. And I *wasn’t* coming here without it, dammit.” He paused, wiped his mouth. “April Mae said ‘come, come, come’. The house meant less to her than the neighborhood, the land. And now we are split, Parasol. She with her version of you and me with mine.”
In her strangely compressing Victorian chair, Parasol said nothing, soaking it all in. She’d like to talk to the woman involved before making a final decision, but it would be difficult to pull her here through the density. Monsieur Gold can only stay for short spells, and that is only because he is closer to the border. It would be logical to choose him — the easy way out. Granddaughter Tessa saw it coming, after all. Gold to Platinum.
“Walk with me,” she said. They often walked during visits. Monsieur Gold came prepared with an extra layer of insulated underwear this time.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0012, 0112, Rose Heaven^^
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.”
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0012, 0108, Alabama, Purden/Snowlands^
Sunklands 