Tag Archives: Sab Blackath^*++++

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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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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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0039, 0702, Bellisaria, Western Hills

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

extreme resonance

“Well I have to admit I’m *jealous* Mr. Z. You’ve done such a fabulous job here…”

“Aw *shucks*. T’wernt nothing.” His true face on the many masked backpack he always carries around identifies itself by turning slightly red here.

“And I’ve, well, I’ve barely touched the Temple of TILE. So jealous…”

Mr. Z reached over, patted his hand. “We’ll work on it… *together*.”

“Sweet of you.”

“But first I have to make a journey. Across the island, south side instead of north. I have to go see where my cousin is, the other Mr. Z, the one they specifically named and called Zimmy. Last I heard: with a Beech.

Al’s cell phone rang. “I have to take this,” he said to the historian living on the second floor of Crooked in the village of Constantynople who had just recreated, to the best of his ability, the famous TILE channeling room where a 3rd cousin to himself and Zimmy, Olive Oylstick (who we’ve already met in this here photo-novel at the end of section 01), gave the virtual and real worlds her uber-important manifesto. All the answers to the universe, some say are in there. Trouble was, no one really knew how to properly decode the almost indecipherable document yet. Mr. Z was hoping that this re-creation was a step in that direction, along with coordination with Al and his high connections, TOM we’re talking about here. Who is on the other side of the line with Al now. Let’s listen in as best we can.

“Yeah it’s a nice day here in Constantynople, thanks for asking. What’s on your mind, TOM?”

Reply. I thought I heard the word Jasper, which was confirmed just ahead.

“Oh. Sorry to hear about that, TOM. So, hmm, I guess you’ll be staying in the Waste now. Is that where I find you?”

Longer reply. Perhaps a minute or even two.

“For now, huh?” Al responds. “Seeing what develops in Jasper — not giving up on it. Okay, as long as I know where you are.” Then, glancing over his shoulder at the setup within, Al gives him some news that he thinks will cheer his superior boss up.

(to be continued)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0039, 0402, Constantynople, Nautilus, Rank & File

sunrise

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…

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sunset

“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)

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0039, 0303, Hana Lei^^

X’s and

Mr. Babyface’s big mouth on his huge head forms an O. He realizes he’s been staring at perfection all this time, volcano at top, familiar green green Xilted and its now grassy fields at the bottom. All answers lie here.

Al temporarily staying over at the Temple of TILE until they get a true custodian of the place was thinking along the same lines. Paradise found. His itchy and scratchy down there has suddenly and, to him, miraculously cleared up, even though it appears to be exacerbated especially by heat and it’s now basically the middle of the summer. Subtract the bit o’ heartburn which he’s not worried about (he’ll adjust his meal again tonight to further pinpoint the issue), he realizes he hadn’t been this healthy in years. From this center of power combining present past future, he wonders what’s next for Shelley, for Arthur and Edward, for Mr. Babyface and whoever shows up to be his companion and sounding board for more Big E/Big Schwa theories in the Kidd Tower, perhaps old lover Greg Ogden (who can still change into green green Gregg Oden when provoked), or maybe nephew Peter Ladd, a cousin of Lamb’s Paul and thus from a different mother, even though they both call Babyface Uncle.

Mr. Babyface has the impression that Shelley and her boat boys will be moving out of the top of Kidd Tower soon, tired of the limited space there. Soon, then, his dining room and his staring chair will be backed by (the map of) Zebrasil not Xilted, as he moves out of W (lower) and X (upper) back to Y (lower) and Z (upper). That’s his hope.

In other locations, Mr. Z has dropped his backpack and its many masks collected over both real and virtual continents in the second floor of Crooked, determined to make it a home too, as well as a space to further the TILE study group he wishes to jump start here in town. The standing yellow ickle just below is sure to follow; another Lamb — and a needed 4th color to balance the other 3, red green blue. We’ll soon see.

But Mr. Z has a journey to make first. He additionally senses he must unite public north and private south into one to make Constantynople and Constance Island as a whole truly fulfilled; be made a *constant*. Myrtle Beech must be visited. And he needs to get the lowdown on the whereabouts of his own cousin Zimmy.

But I forget. Mary, the third member of Lamb to add to Peter (different from Peter Ladd) and Paul, is already here! And so is hubby Pitch Darkly. They’re established at Darkly Manor, their old home from Collagesity back in the days, back when it was set up right next door to the sacred Rubi Woods. Through a transparent upstairs wall they could stare directly into the many linden trees, the cypress 1’s and 2’s, the eucalyptuses, and, most mysterious of course but only occasionally, perhaps only that one time, Unch himself, the fabled 200th tree of the forest, the one that has the ability to uproot itself and go walking about the place. Being a Linden creation and thus supposedly permanent, the forest is still there. Just not Collagesity. The also sacred 97/97/97 spot that once united Collagesity directly with VHC City on the same continent of Heterocera is protected from alteration, i.e., terraforming from the outside, the thing which ruined the parallel 97/97/97 in VHC City, psychically uncoupling the 2 burgs.

And what of Shelley? *She* is from that same diagonal line crossing the continent, its very tip top in fact in Hooktip, a suburb of VHC City — 135/135/135. Another perfection, it seems. Mr. Babyface is huffing and puffing on his recently purchased Blue Pennant tobacco by way of Hana Lei which replaced inferior Red Dragon, still staring, still preparing in his mind. Won’t be long now.

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Filed under **VIRTUAL, 0039, 0206, Constantynople, Heterocera, Jeogeot, Nautilus, Rank & File, Rubi^, VHC City^, Xilted