Semi-Daily Scribbles

Len wasn't happy unless he had multiple projects going. Jumping from one creative outlet to the next suited him since he had many interests and a restless disposition. Never bored, though. He just liked keeping things interesting. Woodwork was his favorite; or rather, it was a skill that came easily. The craft felt natural to Len ever since he was a boy. There was pleasure and great pride in sawing and turning and planing something he could plant his keister on, although Len couldn't sit still for five minutes. Len believed the key to longevity was to stay on his feet more hours than he spent on his backside. He was equally enamored of his clean-up routine: sharpen and put up tools, vacuum the shop, wash out brushes, wipe down benches. Len enjoyed the quickened pulse that came from physical exertion. He also liked the warm blanket feel his brain got when he worked with wood. The work quieted his buzzing head. It's why he liked the keening grind of saw blades. The sound drowned out the howls he heard at all hours of the night.

The mask was said to have transformative powers. Sally discovered the cover up made her skin red and puffy. She hadn't counted on being transformed into an overripe raspberry. The mask made her twitchy, too. Sally's usually cool temperament gave way to crying jags and shouting matches. She was up for a tussle with just about anyone. Sally had driven off the people who could have made a difference. She was always the DIY type. No one dared tell Sally her instincts were no longer spot on. She'd lost her edge, and those gut feelings of hers had gotten her into a jam of late. Sally complained of being abandoned. She worked hard to keep her ducklings in line. None of her friends would've been so well known were it not for her careful ministrations. Sally knew best when it came to fashion and philosophy, art and politics. Her lost lovelies couldn't dress themselves, let alone offer an opinion on the state of the nation, before she happened along. She was their fairy godmother with supercharged powers. Sally's friends were lucky to have ever known her. It made no sense why she had to beg for admittance into their lives. She made them. Sally was at the center of it all. They'd come back.

Millie locks herself away in a library where words are checked out one at a time. The pace makes lessons go ever so slowly, but Millie's grateful for the work. It forces her to build a place she could call home. The last thing Millie wants is to exist in someone else's footprint. So she sounds things out. Writes the results down. Avoids the silver spinner's world. Millie seeks membership in her own secret society. The passwords and handshakes change daily, but Millie will find, sooner or later, the entrance to her hidden life.

Gary heard them a lot. The inquiries into how he was feeling. His plans for the future. What he hoped to accomplish now that… Gary didn't like the pressure. Now that he was back in his parents' basement and seeing Dr. G. once a week. Right. What did he hope to accomplish? Well, for one, he had all those visions he needed to sort through and put into some kind of order. The images were compelling, and completely mysterious. His wandering mind always ended up by the sea, green fog closing in around him. Then the wave. Then the thrill of delicious fishy kisses planted all over his face. She was of the sea, but Gary couldn't determine if she was like him. Or like the lady in charge of the garden. A monster.

"Where you going?" The seaweed maiden asked Gary just before the fog dulled his senses and lulled him to sleep.