Semi-Daily Scribbles

Bad dreams were plenty reason for Zoë to retreat. She didn't have enough energy to rewind the unraveling thread, and she didn't have enough influence to swing opinion over to her side. What Zoë did have, however, was a flame that never died. She counted on that to be enough to fend off the Auditors when they came knocking. They tried to befriend her in the past, but they wanted names in exchange for protection. Zoë didn't take names, and she didn't need their protection. The Auditors would find out soon enough they would need to protect themselves from the all-consuming fire that followed Zoë everywhere.

I was too scared to cry. I thought of the pale pink gem hidden in my fist, and didn't know if I should keep it or beg the night to take it back. Either way, I couldn’t bear the thought of someone else possessing it. Death was coming for me, and one magic stone was not going to stop him at the door. I was shaking, though a fever raged through me. I remember it became very, very quiet. The usual sounds of restless animals and wailing children had been swallowed up by the surrounding forest. It was still as Sunday as a bright light swept through the barn, knocking me flat on my back. The pain in my head was real. This was no dream. I had been lost to the wilderness for so long, I was senseless to all else. Was there really a world beyond the far churchyard? The clack of a carriage got closer. My name was called down from the clouds. I would be the only traveler that evening. There was no one to see me off. Where I was going, not even belief in something better could assure me safe passage.

Winds never shifted so soon after finding an exit. Zoë knew before departure this visit was going to be different. She hoped to stay on course and not get lost in the possibilities.

Baby steps. Don't try anything complicated.

Raindrops kept perfect rhythm as they slapped against Zoë's forehead. It rained wherever she went. The hum of power lines joined in with the frenzied whispering of the trees. Zoë felt her feet moving, leaving prints in the rocky sand, but she was nowhere near a beach. Bed sheet, box frame, floor, and foundation crumbled. Electricity coursed through Zoë's body. With each spasm of her limbs, she was brought closer and closer to the widening stream. Flesh gave way to all creation. Nothing of Zoë's bones remained. She became a bubble, hurtling silent and fast down a vaporous passageway. She was off on a day trip to the ever-after without a single regret.

Virginia felt as though all the important people in her life were moving on, leaving her to flounder on her own. No one would be there to catch her, or coach her, or tell her when she wasn't making sense. Virginia couldn't even allow herself to think about her best friend who was moving away; actually packing up her household and leaving the state. Jill and her entire family had been reduced to contrails as far as Virginia was concerned. She was hurt, mad, and in no position to forgive. What was so difficult about leaving things as they were? Why did people think change was good? It took Virginia years to carve out a niche, and then settle into it nice and snug. Routine was a lifeline for Virginia, and sameness kept her sane. Not everyone needed something different to happen every day. And, unlike what Jill suggested, Virginia felt there was no reason at all to let go of the past. What was the past, anyway? Virginia lived life in a tight, circular formation, so yesterday and tomorrow was always looking in on today. Virginia was not about to break the chain of continuity. Stress caused carelessness, and carelessness snapped the strongest bonds in two. Virginia could let go at her own peril.

Following is a translation of the message I received today:

Viktor, I need my trowel. Bring it! There are no insiders! That beard of yours wants a Brasilien blowout. Lucky is the wonder who sprints 10 times a day. 3 will pay for an eclipse ending. Our client list consists of readers, writers, angels, and believers. Unauthorized access to the underworld is grounds for termination. Project Daylight Contamination. The next chapter is hidden in November's mad dash to decipher these words.

Megan got a second chance to write her story. The first pass-through was riddled with poor judgment and lapses in logic. These things are bound to happen when the number of years lived span a handful of chapters. Emotions cut deep when everything is new, and losing one's place is a constant challenge. Megan didn't take a re-write lightly, and booked enough quiet time to pull her through the crisis. Loved ones and remembrances blurred together, and Megan knew the work had to be done fast before she lost focus. Life was moving on whether she assembled the right words or not, so Megan crossed off the phrases that made it easy for her foot to fit in her mouth. She needed all her faculties to hack at the raw materials of a meaningful, memorable existence.