Semi-Daily Scribbles

A sense of wonder led Lily to the opening of the deep woods. Lily read a lot and said her prayers every night before retiring. She was afraid for her soul. Lily felt it tugging and taunting her with pretty promises. Freedom … Fortune … Forever. Intriguing prospects, but Lily feared her soul would develop a mind of its own, and not behave properly should she expire in the night. Souls have been known to walk out the front door and attend matinees, or join unions. Lily couldn't bear the thought of a lifetime of restraint not paying off; of not getting her an audience with the creator. That is the reason why Lily entered the forest. There were tests hidden amongst the trees, full of mystery and pain. Lily had come to face the trials designed to tear flesh and torment one's spiritual being. Taking matters into her own hands, Lily was determined to set her soul straight as to where it was headed should she be found not in her right mind.

Road. Path. Journey. Way.
Common images to describe taking action
in the face of uncertainty.

Lara felt most at home rolling in the unknown. It didn't take courage, or exceptional intelligence, to carve out useable units of reality. What the job did require, however, was patience and a sense of humor. These indispensible tools made the work feel like play. Lara had her seven rotating stars, and her friendly fire, to keep the project on track. True, the outcome of Lara's labor was the biggest unknown of all, but she had to stick to the schedule. How else would she ever come to know the beauty of chance and chaos if she always obeyed the signs?

Larry was hunkered in the garden with sky-high dahlias keeping the world at bay. Larry was having a bad day. He tried to explain to the therapist how his life had become a predictable sitcom, but a sympathetic ear and a dash of reassurance was not what Larry wanted. What he wanted was for Dr. Grant, or anybody, to just come out and say:

"Hey, Larry! You've hit the nail on the head. The dream realm, where you are in control of time, is reality. No, really. I couldn't make this stuff up. Now, enough with the worrying already. Go back to sleep!"

Much to Larry's dismay, he could find no brave soul to expose the truth, save but one. He wasn't ready to leave the safety of the dahlia canopy, but as soon as he was revitalized, Larry was going to take his message to the people. He'd live on the cold, mean streets if that's what was necessary to put his overwrought comedy to bed.

A sweet, musky taste lingered in the back of Karla's throat. She felt dizzy as she coughed up something pearlescent and slimy.

"Here, drink this." A glass of water was held up in front of her nose. She'd forgotten about Kayla. Taking the glass from her sister, Karla drank until there was nothing left. She looked around the living room, not wanting to believe the hazy, intermittent images scrolling through her mind.

"Hold on!” Karla sputtered as her gaze rested on the coffee table. “Where did all those beer bottles come from?”

“You were out of it for an hour. Maybe longer. I got a bit anxious waiting for you to wake up.” Kayla rushed over to the table and grabbed as many empties as she could. Karla listened to the clatter and slamming coming from the kitchen when another wave of dizziness hit. The smell of cotton candy and clove hung heavy in the room.

"I was what?" Kayla returned from the kitchen in time to hear her sister's agitated question.

"I don't know what, but it freaked me out. You were sitting in that chair the whole time with your eyes wide open. Didn’t blink once. It happened as soon as those came." Kayla pointed to a vase filled with pink roses sitting atop the mantelpiece, still nestled in a florist's cardboard box.

"Why didn't you do something, like call 911? I could have died!" Kayla played with a button on her cuff while she avoided looking at Karla.

"The card with the flowers said not to disturb you once your eyes got big and glassy." Kayla paused as she pulled the small, white button loose from its thread. "Boy, were they ever."

Rosemarie found the give-and-take of conversation hope enough to continue her mission. She knew messages were embedded in the simple exchanges in which people engaged daily, so she listened with care and answered with even greater caution.

"How do you take your coffee?" A gingham-wearing woman asked.
TRANSLATION: The Agents know you've built a causeway.

"Sugar, please." Rosemarie answered.
TRANSLATION: I'm keeping the plans safe. They don't know how to shut the gate.

Rosemarie was vigilant. She couldn't take anything at face value, not even the cats and dogs roaming the neighborhood. The Agents had doubled their patrols. In the past week, Rosemarie saw the same dog chasing the same squirrel on the same corner precisely at 9:47 while on her morning walk. She had become quite the object of interest in The Agents' eyes, but no amount of surveillance was going to trip her up. Rosemarie had already brought over one of The Menders. He was sickened by how The Agents had destroyed and misused this world. Rosemarie was leaving the causeway open for the others to find their way.