Joy Void (Fragments)
Lost in grief, Carolyn Callus is caught between two worlds. But which one is real?
{F1}
Buzzbuzz.
She lies beneath a crushed duvet cover, squashed next to an open wardrobe full of labelled boxes {sightings {rejections {ideas {bills {etc {etc}}}}}}, a few folded tops and jumpers, pairs of shoes {brand-less trainers {generic office flats {generic office heels}}}, an orange dress and other items on hangers pressed together without a scribble of daylight between them.
Boxes and boxes {twenty-six}.
The bed is approximately six of these boxes away from where her feet are {beneath the duvet}. The bed strains under the weight from not a person, nor even an animal, but even more boxes {Perpetua {Posy {tunnels Mole City?}}}.
One window to the right of the bed is hidden by {fading} curtains {of rambling roses}. From behind it, birdsong {a blackbird} mixes with the ambient drone of vehicles and buzzbuzz of message alerts.
Orb Alert On this day in 1917: Against the backdrop of the war, women in Russia again chose to protest and strike for ‘Bread and Peace’ on the last Sunday in February, which fell on 8 March on the Gregorian calendar. In 1975, during International Women’s Year, the United Nations began celebrating International Woman’s Day on 8 March.
A television {40 inch} is switched on, but nothing plays except snow. The volume has been muted. Attached to it, black wires wind backwards towards plastic boxes of hardware spying through a red sphere of light.
The room is {almost} silent {behind the buzzbuzzing}, as music emerges. It is familiar {perhaps from a film {or a memory{?}}}. A song lurks somewhere between murky layers of {almost {wordless}} verse and loops of guitar and keys, reverb and echo {and ecccho}.
A melody plays for ten seconds and repeats itself {four times}. After the second play the body beneath the duvet recoils. After the third, feet are revealed {sock-less {nails needing a trim {faint remains of black nail polish on one big toe}}}. After the fourth {re}cycle of melody completes, a fifth {re}cycle never comes.
Rapid scratching materialises from the other side of the closed bedroom door.
The duvet is shrugged off and there she is, what is left of the person known in one world as Carolyn Callus. Long legs hang loose from a pair of pyjama shorts. On top is an over-sized John Lennon {solo {Plastic Ono Band era}} t-shirt.
Orb Alert Today will be mostly cloudy in the morning, but expect rain to fall like cats and dogs from 15:00 onwards today all across Halo.
Carolyn creeps forward on all fours {cat-like} towards the {not yet for retail} smartphone, a Cloud Orb 4x. The scratching continues, gets louder {deeper?}. Carolyn looks into the Orb, checks the display and lets it drop to the duvet. Closes her eyes.
Sighs. Her chest rises and falls in a shallow wheeze {a bubble surfacing {in a muddy puddle {post-storm}}}.
Carolyn stands a crooked figure, arms limp by her side. Although average height for a woman, she has a waist below the healthy line {gossip and staring line}}.
A face empty {from make-up {expression {sun {sleep}}}} twists towards the static cycling up and down {left and right} on the screen. Carolyn’s blue eyes open, relax {slip}, are lulled and drawn to the dancing black and white, as if she is watching, or listening, for a drip to drop.
Buzzbuzz.
The static seems to understand. The room can hear it, too. Prickly, dense and samey. The noise grows a few {ten} decimals louder, burying the scratching sound. Louder it grows {thirty more}. Louder {louder} still.
Orb Alert Breaking news: Another girl has been declared missing this morning. Last seen getting off the train in the Halo District … more to follow.
Carolyn reaches for her nose to wipe away a tickle, but finds fresh blood dripping down onto her t-shirt {red roses bloom from out of Lennon’s hair}.
The static keeps growing stronger, wider. The walls move forward, towards it. The scratching continues {somewhere inside it}. The {seventy-six} boxes in the room {appear to} shake.
But they aren’t. Carolyn is shaking. The blood from her nose fully flowing {drip, drip, dripping}.
The screen continues to get louder. Rising white noise which could be anything {electricity {storms {rushing water {tunnels collapsing {buzzbuzzing {voices {screaming}}}}}}}.
Carolyn turns away from the screen {in slow motion} and lies down onto the bed {finding a maze of space in between thirteen boxes}. She closes her eyes. Blood flowing still from her nose, forming a crimson stream, spreading onto the white valance.
Orb Alert Did you know that today is national hug day? Share the love, land a hug.
Shuffle.
Carolyn is an employee {one of thousands} of a {global animal} mega-corp tech company. Highly-regarded, just check out their website, her name’s all over it. But that counts for nothing.
Buzzbuzz.
Carolyn has been housebound for the last month. Bedroom-bound for most of this period. Bed-bound, more so than not, too, particularly the past three days.
Even in this insufferable darkness, she is unable to avoid the lure of tech, to resist plugging in. The red light {almost} begging her to push play, to make it green, to be able to see. There is part of her after all inside it.
Orb Alert Head of Angel Copeland Enterprises, Mr Angel Copeland himself, celebrates his 61st birthday today. The technology mogul, reportedly worth one billion dollars, is said to be taking it easy with his family, spending a few days fishing and boating on his exclusive lake in Pan Eurydice.
Carolyn’s employers Angel Copeland Enterprises have played her by the {legally-on-the-line} playbook: full sick pay, extended leave,
Buzzbuzz.
a choice from a two page leaflet of niche therapy, including, but not limited to:
Orb Alert Lost for direction? Need a helping hand to find your way? We’ve got your back covered here at Angel Copeland Enterprises. Head over to our website or call us now to make your life better starting from today. More
counsellors or psychologists
or psychiatrists
or psychotherapists
or psychoanalysts
or doctors
Buzzbuzz.
Orb Alert Your game has been inactive for 2 hour and 43 minutes. Would you like to continue playing?
or group therapy
or interpersonal therapy
or schema therapy
or mindfulness
or CBT
or ACT
Buzzbuzz.
Orb Alert Haircut @12 with Tia on Saturday
or CAT
or DBT
or a life coach
or employee “buddies”
or compassion-focused therapy
or dance therapy
Buzzbuzz.
Orb Alert Did you know that the New York Stock Exchange was founded on this day in 1817?
or equine assisted therapy
or puppy therapy
or drama therapy
or music therapy
or art therapy
or play therapy
Buzzbuzz.
Buzzbuzz.
Orb Alert P’s birthday is in 7 days time. She will be 8 years old.
or reality therapy
or existential therapy
or transpersonal therapy
or psychosynthesis
or Gestalt therapy
or Jungian therapy
Buzzbuzz.
Buzzbuzz.
Buzzbuzz.
Orb Alert Today’s cat facts: A group of cats is called a clowder. Cats have over 20 muscles that control their ears. Cats sleep 70% of their lives. A cat has been mayor of Talkeetna, Alaska, for 15 years. His name is Stubbs.
Carolyn has taken the{ir} {buzzbuzz} money and {home} time {by default though, rather through any sense of gratitude}, but has refused {through fatigued ignorance and grief} the typed Seravek Extralight {their branded} letters {of protocol {rather than of concern}} scheduled stages of company support and enclosed catalogue of mental health assistance.
Orb Alert Deal of the day from Angel Copeland: Buy the new Joy Void and get your choice of three games and the deluxe headset, plus 2 years worth of playspace on the cloud, for just £399, More
All she wants is maternal therapy.
Never again. Never again will she see her face in this room.
But that doesn’t mean Carolyn will ever stop looking.
It just looks as if she has.
Buzzbuzz.
Orb Alert Joke of the day: Why did the little boy bury his favourite torch? Because the batteries died.
Mostly it is loss that teaches us about worth.
First comes the flood.
The olive branch will always come, but first you have to endure the {buzzbuzz} storm.
Orb Alert Today’s get up and go, sponsored by Angel Copeland Enterprises: “The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched — they must be felt with the heart.” Helen Keller.
Ctrl
Buzzbuzz.
White Shell Woman lives with Sun Father in the West.
White Shell Woman is sister of the Changing Woman and wife of Water. Created when the Talking God and the Wind breathed life into two shells.
The shells became sisters and grew lonely, so sought company — Changing Woman with the Sun and White Shell Woman with a mountain stream.
In time, they gave birth to two sons, who grew up to battle the monsters that roamed the earth.
Orb Alert [Silent]
White Shell Woman went to live on her own. The Talking God and other deities came to visit her, bringing ears of corn covered with sacred blankets that grew into a man and a woman.
White Shell Woman was over the moon with these creations.
Changing Woman followed suit and another man and woman were made.
Another and another and another followed, creating a society of people.
And then people made people. And people made problems. And problems made problems. And problems made problems. And problems made problems …
Orb Alert [Silent]
Shuffle.
Orb Alert [Silent]
Carolyn kept up appearances {on the surface} almost all of the time {during {just before …}. She wore a happy face.
Maintained her {subdued {still sleek}} style. Shoes always shiny. Clothes always pressed. Said her hellos and goodbyes.
Deadlines met. Ideas saved. Code correct.
No one cared to dig {too deep} though. No one rarely {never} does. If they did, maybe something would have showed {earlier}.
Carolyn started to find it so much easier to cry {during films {naff novels {other people’s worries {newspaper stories {Twitter moments {dead birds in the park {buds falling off flowers {even a light bulb blowing}}}}}}}}. But this was done hidden in plain sight {or in the private of public toilets {changing rooms {the living room when P was supposed to be in bed {while it rained and she was meant to comfort her}}}}}.
But this does not mean Carolyn never felt or {feels} the reverse {quite the opposite}. Even tiny {stupid} things started to irritate {anger {upset}}} her. {later} Carolyn felt awful for launching one at the postman {for delivering packages {meant for P}}. She got irate over a telesales call. Apocalyptic over lost lines of JV code.
Orb Alert [Silent]
// A pendulum swinging between two poles.
// A tense tiger tiptoeing across a tightrope.
Orb Alert [Silent]
Not sleeping {at night} hasn’t helped. Nether has sleeping during the day {in bursts {sporadic cat naps}}. Carolyn’s more tired now than she ever was doing all her regular running {and spin classes {all the juggling a mum has to do {walks in the park with P {dancing to MTV with P {worrying about P}}}}}.
Another sign was Carolyn started knocking back lunch dates. Conversations about the weather {husbands {school runs {“did you see her do this? do that?”}}} no longer mattered. Didn’t want to eat {chew {make crumbs {show mess}}} around others. She started getting a lot of period cramp days {bloated days {must have been something I’ve eaten days}}. At least the bloody noses were real. Food stopped being comforting {even chocolate covered nuts}. Meals were skipped. Clothes started to {not} fit.
Inches began to slide.
Sonya started to ask questions. Carolyn swiped her claws and Sonya bolted. Carolyn didn’t care {but was horrified with herself later}. They have IMed since {a little}. But the guilt {for everything} has only grown.
And of course there is King Lion, with his outstretched paws. Wondering the prairies for his {but his {not his {is not {no more}}}}. A mother’s pride sinks teeth the sharpest. First bite the hardest.
Orb Alert [Silent]
Shuffle.
They {someone {from a book {something else?}}} say anger comes from a place of being scared. A reactionary emotion, coming out of another. Carolyn {before} read about {been told {seen on TV}} how a female black bear will charge down, maim and likely kill anything {or one} that is a threat to her young. Her fear of loss, fuels a fire of protection, of anger {of red {a mist {blindness}}}.
Carolyn gets that bear. Carolyn was that bear.
Orb Alert [Silent]
She hung on for as long as she thought it possible.
Slowly sinking to the bottom of the riverbed, incrementally every minute {hour {day {month {year?}}}} filling up with silt and gravel and mud and muck brought down from upstream, moving {or maybe not} a little further down the channel as Mondays become Tuesdays and weekdays become some days and one days, and the sight of the sea {and the smells} become visible {breathable}, while you {as you is me {was me}} become something else {an other} gradually broken down, stitch by stitch, until there are only parts left, the word you {me {Carolyn {Carolyn}}} no longer describes the void.
Shuffle.
Orb Alert [Silent]
It’s dark. Time is of no consequence. Carolyn {in the same clothes as yesterday} eyes the red light of the console. Waiting for it to blink, but it never does. Willing it to go green, but she holds the power.
A long arm hangs over the side of the bed and feels {like a bottom feeder {in the ocean}}. Pulls up slowly a plastic lure {in between boxes}. Clink {clink {clink}}.
On the end of the line ‘JV’ stares back at Carolyn.
She slowly flips from her back {to her front} and fumbles the headset onto her head.
Buzzbuzz.
Orb Alert [Silent]
Red to green {finally}.
And then:
Buzzbuzz.
A familiar voice in her ears {mind}?
“What do I see? What do I know?!”
“Your name is carolyn_callus_.”
“You will see a cat.”
“You are going to follow it.”
Orb Alert Welcome back carolyn_callus_. Hope you’re having a great day!
Shuffle.
Shuffle.
Shuffle.
Orb Alert Loading . . .
{F2}
Buzzbuzz.
Of course it’s the smoke that excites death the most. Fire is the final flourish, the fireworks of the rich. For the smoke, in as little as a few minutes, can fill a house and create complete darkness, even during daylight. Smoke, so thick with toxins, quickly choking, disorienting, to a point of unconsciousness, or worse, an eternal midnight.
There are no flames though without fuel. Without a catalyst. Oxygen and a strike to light. While fire left alone to burn will trail or flail, depending on its origins.
Orb Alert [Silent [Low Battery]]
Look to the phoenix, entirely made of flames, burns herself to death and brings herself back to life, reborn from her own ashes.
Remember Prometheus, who stole fire from the gods to give to mankind? Chained alone on a rock for eternity, so an eagle could repeatedly peck on his liver.
Mātariśvan is another hero of sorts, who stole fire that had been hidden away in heaven from the eyes of man.
And lest not forget Grandmother Spider who stole fire from the sun and hid it in a clay pot, before gifting it to the people so they could see in the dark.
Orb Alert [Silent [Low Battery]]
The children of the Japanese are told by their elders if they were to play with fire they would forever be chronic bedwetters.
While a Germanic folktale claims fire should never be given away from the house of a woman within the first six weeks after childbirth.
There is of course Loki, Hephaestus too, whose shadows as Vulcan also connects to fire. Plus the Slavic Svarog, a firebreather favourite from the inner realms of the underground.
Orb Alert [Silent [Low Battery]]
// Ashes to ashes
// Dust to dust
// We all know Madame Fire’s a pyro
Buzzbuzz.
Buzzbuzz.
Buzzbuzz.
Buzzbuzz.
Buzzbuzz.
Buzzbuzz.
Buzzbuzz.
Buzzbuzz.
Buzzbuzz.
Buzzbuzz.
Buzzbuzz.
Buzzbuzz.
Buzzbuzz.
Buzzbuzz.
Buzzbuzz.
Buzzbuzz.
Buzzbuzz.
Orb Alert [Silent [Low Battery]]
Carolyn’s heartbeat has quickened {considerably} since the green eye {opened wide}. Her perspiration levels have increased, too. A moist forehead and darkened arm pit stains.
Following the trail of smoke {for however many hours} has found not a single spark of fire {apart from the throbbing one deep inside her chest}.
Immersed {in the inside out} Carolyn was deaf to the rising buzzbuzz of her Orb and the knockknock at her door.
Holding herself rigid {stiff} has left her arms numb and the area just above her clavicle aching {with a deeply rooted intensity}.
Orb Alert [Silent [Low Battery]]
A reoccurring dream is supposed to happen for a reason. A warning {a lesson?} Or an opportunity to reboot {and replay {and do so with revised tactics {and goals}}}?
Orb Alert [Silent [Low Battery]]
It is the widening tunnel lunging through her head that springs the invisible lock off.
Headset falls to the bed with a clink.
A familiar frame {from a familiar eye} stares back at her. The same scene {she pictures {when she closes her eyelids}}. The same scene that enters her night stories {when sleep does take her}.
Orb Alert [Silent [Low Battery]]
Carolyn pictures a bonfire in her mind {thick with black smoke {clouds her thoughts {forks of fire that sidewinds {and dances up the pyre {adorned by a figure cloaked in shadow {tied up with ropes {screaming for forgiveness {for her life {from the flames {growing like poisoned dandelions around her feet {the pairs of green eyes which bate her {and hate her {from the circular fire pit}}}}}}}}}}}}}.
Orb Alert [Silent [Low Battery]]
As the flames rise {and rise} more of the figure is illuminated, so in this impeding death, more light is in fact shone. As screams pierce the forest {and the hidden clouds above them} the branches of the ash tree that holds the figure tight with twine, screams too, as bark blackens and fresh growth fizzles and fractures {separating from mother}.
The voice of the female form {now a black cloud for a head} is lost amidst the ash tree’s tears {the crowd’s cheers}. Up the flames they chase. A neck {a chin {a pair of lips {a nose {two empty petrified eyes}}}}. The woman screams {but silence shouts out} as smoke snakes its way down {inside} her body.
Orb Alert [Silent [Low Battery]]
Carolyn’s left arm burns in pain. She is pinching herself {to the point of blood}. She is screaming {she is screaming {she is screaming {she is screaming {she is screaming {she is screaming {she is screaming {she is screaming {she is screaming {she is screaming {she is screaming {she is screaming {she is screaming {she is screaming {she is screaming {she is screaming {she is screaming {she is screaming {she is screaming {she is screaming {she is screaming {she is screaming {she is screaming {she is screaming {she is screaming {she is screaming {she is screaming {she is screaming {she is screaming {she is screaming {she is screaming {she is screaming {she is screaming {she is screaming}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}.
buzzbuzz
buzzbuzz
buzzbuzz
buzzbuzz
Orb Alert [Silent [Low Battery]]
Alt
Never assume loud is strong and quiet is weak.
Although sometimes this can be the case.
In the particular case of the squonk, it is exactly the case.
Orb Alert [Silent]
At the apex of the timber industry in the Hemlock forests of northern Pennsylvania, loggers tired and sweat-soaked from days long inside the woods began to grow a suspicion they shared their hours not just with each other and the trees they felled, but also alongside what they described as a “spiritual entity” which lived in their periphery, between roots and branches.
An increasing number of accounts were told from labourers of the Lumberwoods who shared details that matched up with a number of different mouths.
For those not familiar with the particular atmosphere of the forest these stories became a source of laughter and ridicule by the townsfolk, who mocked their mythical creature readily at every opportunity.
Orb Alert [Silent]
The men of the woods described what they almost saw as seeing your soul in a house of mirrors where torchlight flickered and spat. The general consensus told of a creature, possibly one of many, or maybe just one that roamed readily. Of beast statue and gait, it shared similarities with dog, warthog and tiger, but was also nothing like any of those.
With skin ill-fitting of its shape and size, hanging in droops and clumps, smeared with blemishes and seeping warts, no man has ever seen this creature with steady eyes. For if it was ever spotted it would vanish almost instantly.
It became more common to hear of this creature, than see it. Emitting a sound described by many as the weeping of a very miserable child, who dared only to be alone, for it had shamed its mother and father.
Orb Alert [Silent]
A select few of the loggers with connections to hunters attempted to capture these moaning mysteries by camping out overnight in bird hides.
With traps set using false floor pits they achieved the boast to prove that, yes they did exist, and were indeed a physical being.
They also by way of their desires for heavier pockets discovered even when conceivably trapped these creatures held an ability to dissolve completely into a pool of tears.
The hunters were quoted as saying the creatures just became a liquid out of themselves. Even when the legendary J.P. Wentling bagged one of them, with top tied tight with rope, spoke of how the load over their shoulder suddenly lightened. Upon inspection the inside of the bag only contained the liquid remains of the sad creature.
Orb Alert [Silent]
At some point, a gentleman of science, based on the body of hearsay and scant evidence gathered thus far, labelled these species the squonk, or in Latin, Lacrimacorpus dissolvens, a term born from words meaning tear, body, and dissolve.
Throughout history since there have been many a reference to the shy, miserable squonk, so ashamed of its appearance it could literally not bear anyone looking at it without melting.
From literature to opera, in pop culture and folklore. In fact in chemistry and biology squonks are known as certain substances that are stable in one form, but cannot be isolated or captured without literally dissolving in their own tears.
Orb Alert [Silent]
Shuffle.
Orb Alert [Silent]
Although lost inside the green eye for hours {and hours} time is no longer a function Carolyn recognises.
Neither is shape or form. For as the seconds roll and shadows change, the angles and dimensions appear to alter, making Carolyn almost the stillest element in the room.
Is it true if you think something all the time it feels true?
Does an urge relentlessly itched become a constant action minus the original reaction?
Orb Alert [Silent]
The innocuous looking headset is {both} the key {and door} to an expanding {and extracting} bubble. A bubble Carolyn no longer craves because she is now part of it.
Leaning against the edge of her bed {legs dead straight out in front {no longer aware of pricking pins and needles {circulating up to her waist}}}. Red and black eyes swollen with hours {and hours} of silent weeping. Her inside detached from the outside drip drip drip of tears, falling, soaking into the untied dressing gown.
Orb Alert [Silent]
{ignoring light and shade} The constant movements in the room originate from the kaleidoscopic colours burning off the screen.
Shades and cells from another medium {with walls {and floors {and roofs {and doors {so similar to ours, Carolyn walks past them {on them {up to them {through them}}}}}}}}.
As such, being confronted with an open door is a signal of welcoming {or an omen of disappearing}?
A hand digging a hole, an action of freedom {or one of fleeing}?
Orb Alert [Silent]
Just because green shines, does it always mean things are safe up ahead?
Carolyn’s legs spasmsmsmsmsm
{her pupils widdden
{her bladder relaxxxxes}}.
Sitting in a pool of sweat, tears and urine,
Carolyn chases.
Carolyn
shufffffles.
Orb Alert [Silent]
{F3}
Beep.
One new message.
Message one.
The latest content module concept came in this morning, Carolyn, for the next DLC.
Nexus have the working title ‘Torn’. I know how you used to love stories. I’m sure you still do, even if you don’t think you do right now.
Anyway, this one is set in Antarctica and it focuses on a pair of Emperor Penguins called Pyra and Thisbe.
Orb Alert [Silent [Low Battery]]
Pyra and Thisbe are as young and as in love as anyone possibly can be. They bring such joy to one another’s lives. Pyra has loved Thisbe since she first set eyes upon him, and Thisbe has loved Pyra since the first time he saw her eyes look upon his.
Do you remember that feeling, Carolyn? You must? I do. I remember almost to the second when that feeling hit me.
So they are soul mates and before long Pyra falls pregnant and lays an egg. And being penguins as they are, Pyra trusts her egg with Thisbe, parting from him, and it, with much pain to start her long voyage, over fifty miles in fact, to reach the ocean and find fish for her baby to eat upon hatching.
Orb Alert [Silent [Low Battery]]
While Pyra is absent, Thisbe does his fatherly duties well at first, keeping their fragile egg warm and safe from the elements, tucking it up tight between a roll of his abdominal fat. He enjoys time spent with the other males, moving only just enough to remain warm.
He misses Pyra’s company deeply though and her touch almost as much.
I remember how delicately soft the skin in your palm used to feel as I slowly circled my finger around it.
But Pyra’s stomach begins to tell him, shout at him, that he is beginning to feel the early pangs of a great hunger.
Fortunately, a good Samaritan neighbour teaches him the power of positive thought and after which Thisbe always pictures Pyra’s return to him whenever he feels the gnawing call of his gut.
Everything else is not quite all smelling of roses though, Carolyn.
You see, Thisbe has a scare one particular blowy day, where the cold makes his bones ache and his mind tired. He falls asleep and fails to notice their egg fall from its cosy cradle.
Don’t worry though yet Carolyn, for thankfully one of Thisbe’s best friends is in better shape and sees what has happened and nudges Thisbe awake. Thisbe is obviously beyond grateful, managing to successfully manoeuvre the egg back into place with no harm done.
Orb Alert [Silent [Low Battery]]
Meanwhile, brave Pyra is suffering, too. Far more in fact than Thisbe is. Forgetting for one moment the extreme distance she has had to waddle, she also narrowly escaped losing her life to the jaws of a shark. But luck was on her side that day and she has battled on, fuelled by the longing to return to her true love and to meet her new child. After two long months out at sea, and now sufficiently fed, Pyra knows it is time to make her way back home.
Now, perhaps only a mere day away from being reunited, Thisbe is starting to be driven beyond mad with hunger. It has got so bad he has isolated himself from the other males, who have lost patience with his growing selfishness.
That night Thisbe can not sleep. Freezing and all by himself, he simply stares at the stars in the clear sky, praying to God that Pyra will return soon to him.
But Thisbe does not share his true love’s courage or character. Overcome with hunger, he decides to make a break for the sea, to fill himself up with fish.
But in his great haste – wait for it Carolyn – he drops their egg onto the hard ice and it cracks open and loses its shape. Thisbe is distraught and overcome with guilt. He collects the damaged egg and returns to camp, saying nothing to no one.
Orb Alert [Silent [Low Battery]]
Now here’s where the writer really turns the screw. I would say I apologise, but I do think you need to hear this.
Pyra returns the next day to find a gravely ill looking Thisbe, who is almost ready to pass out with hunger and cold, but ultimately from shame.
He rolls over to show Pyra their sad looking egg and shakes his head. Despite having the best intentions to do so, Thisbe is unable to confess, even to Pyra, what has happened.
So Pyra assumes the worse, she has laid a bad egg and all her traveling was for nothing.
She regurgitates the fish that was meant to be for her young, knowing that none will be born this year.
She steps away from Thisbe, feeling beyond ashamed, believing she has completely let him down.
Still no words come from Thisbe, as Pyra waddles off. Instead he gorges on the meal of fish Pyra has left on the ice and fills himself up with the food meant for their child’s first meal.
Orb Alert [Silent [Low Battery]]
Pyra and Thisbe share the night together, for the last time. As it has always been in their family, if a baby is not produced one year, then they are required to look for new mates. Basic survival of the fittest stuff really, Carolyn. Savage.
So neither one of them can sleep at first, but both pretend to the other that they are. Sleep eventually does come to Thisbe, after he finally finds the courage to tell Pyra everything in the morning. He dreams of them having a child next year and teaching them to swim and fish and everything a penguin has to do.
However, and here’s the real zinger, Carolyn. Pyra is unable to sleep at all. Wracked with guilt and feeling she has let her true love down in the worst possible way, she gets up silently in the night and leaves Thisbe sleeping, snoring gently.
Orb Alert [Silent [Low Battery]]
In the morning, Thisbe wakes up alone. Taking this as a signal that Pyra no longer loves him, and realising that this is all his fault, he heads straight for the ocean, to a section known to be where sharks patrol, and jumps into the freezing cold water, without even looking behind him.
After a couple of hours travelling in a direction Pyra really did not recognise, the sun begins to rise and everything looks so stunning and beautiful and clean and new and white, that a renewed optimism enters her heart and she decides there and then to waddle home.
Pyra returns home to find the others frantic over both their disappearances.
“What do you mean Thisbe? He is missing too?”
“He woke up and found you gone, thinking you rejected him. We tried to tell him not to, but he left. Left in the direction of the great sea.”
Orb Alert [Silent [Low Battery]]
Without hesitation Pyra waddles towards the great sea and searches for Thisbe for hours and hours on end. But Thisbe is nowhere to be found.
As day turns into night, Pyra grows weak, cold and sick. Her thoughts start to wander into dark places and she becomes very lax with where she is walking, stepping forward onto a weak piece of ice that immediately collapses into the freezing waters.
Pyra panics and tries to swim back towards the surface, but her efforts only take her straight into the path of a shark’s large jaws. The very same shark who had taken Thisbe’s life only a few hours before.
Orb Alert [Silent [Low Battery]]
So Pyra and Thisbe are unable to return. And the rest of the penguins are sad for days upon end. All they have left of their friends is their cracked little egg,
which they start to hold with such import and take turns holding it.
And here it comes, Carolyn.
A few days later, the original crack grows bigger, wider, until the egg separates into two halves. Out from it comes a perfectly healthy baby penguin, who is soon adopted by a serial layer of infertile eggs, who never ever thought she would see the day when she would be a mum.
She names the baby after her birth mother.
Orb Alert [Silent [Low Battery]]
What do you think Carolyn? It is worthy of inclusion?
Carolyn.
Today is a new day. A new day.
Carolyn.
A day that has never happened before.
Carolyn. Carolyn, why not open your window? Open it and see.
Let the wind touch you again.
Carolyn?
Orb Alert [Silent [Low Battery]]
Carolyn pulls back the curtains. Ignoring the call of the red eye. Reaction springs a moment for speech, though Echo can only hear elements of the fast {and slow} moving mise-en-scène through the smeary pane. Her voice {another ghost {lost {wandering}}}.
// Trying to ignore the claws of the crimson king.
How does he dare? Words heal when? Experience counts for all. Still counting on.
Orb Alert [Silent [Low Battery]]
Curtains frame a road. Vehicles pass by from left to right {and right to left}. Right leads to the mountains and lake. Left to the core, {processors and assessors {narrators and confessors}}.
Carolyn spies {through her palm mask {squinting through the light}}. The motion suggests chaos and subterfuge.
A boy flashes past {almost could stretch out to touch} escaping stampeding pairs of feet chasing him across the road {darting behind a Copeland truck}. One, two, three boys of similar age {but with darker shadows} halt at the kerb. The truck washes the vista with red as it whooshes past. Revealing in its absence a red fox slunk low to the tarmac, dashing between white lines and colourful cars. The boys curse with crunched mouths {spit to the floor}.
Orb Alert [Silent [Low Battery]]
// The tug of the fiery pupil pulsing.
Both legs weary with absence. Carolyn perches on the bed {between boxes}. Almost falls in one. A cat now on the window sill. Bearing markings of black and tan. Their mouth opens and Carolyn hears the mrkgnao through the glass. Of welcome {of warning {of pain?}}.
A bloody paw (drip {dripping}}.
A pirouette of its tail as a leathery hand strokes its spine. A man in a wheelchair {cheeks all puffed out {skin ablaze with rose}} beckons the cat onto his lap and pulls a thorn from the cat’s paw. The man strokes the cat’s weighty head while it sprays fresh urine towards the window. Before pausing … {and unpausing} jumping off the lap, moving out of sight. Wheels begin to move and the man slowly puff puff puffs his way out of sight up the growing ascent.
Orb Alert [Silent [Low Battery]]
O ladybird, O ladybird won’t you play with me.
Carolyn takes the window off its latch and recoils from the stink, as a tall woman dressed in black strolls past. A crow perched on top of her left shoulder chats and then shouts.
“Rattlerattleclickclickclickcawwwwcawwwwwwwwwcawwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwcawwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.”
“Hey, hey. Stop that. Come back you.”
Footsteps follow of light rain {a girl running {grasping a broken packet of sweets {drop drop dropping to the pavement}}}. A pause. Followed by more footsteps of thunder puffing.
“Stop this. Stop this. Stop this.”
Orb Alert [Silent [Low Battery]]
A horn blasts {screams of horror}}. Carolyn hears the cries of a child. With the support of the frame, she pulls herself up and out of her window. Her bare feet barely touch the pavement.
Following the cry {the young cry {the cry of anguish}} and a smell of a certain familiarity, Carolyn creeps towards the alleyway behind her place, for the crying only to shrink and vanish.
In between two overturned bins {flooded with rubbish} a red fox gnaws on chicken bones. It halts. Looks Carolyn in the eye. Continues to lick every last piece of meat off the bone.
Carolyn backs away out of the alleyway. The fox’s gaze never shifts off her.
Orb Alert [Silent [Low Battery]]
Sounds of whooshing wheels. The man in the wheelchair, rolling backwards at speed down the hill towards her. Carolyn steps into the road to let him pass. The man greets her with a shrug of his shoulders. Echo tries to ask a question but nothing comes out apart from a beep.
Orb Alert [Silent [Low Battery]]
A green eye winks at her. Hazy around the edges {floating from out of the darkness}.
Carolyn throws a controller in the air, landing face up inside a cardboard box marked Mole City.
The room is black and still {apart from the green eye {apart from a flashing red light pulsing from the corner}}. Carolyn edges towards this red light, a finger pressing down.
Orb Alert [Silent [Low Battery]]
Beep.
One new message.
Message one.
Carolyn listens {drawing back the curtains {blinded by the white of the day}}.
Orb Alert [Silent [Low Battery]]
Shift
When we are born everything we see, and the things yet to be seen, appear as great as mountains.
The great lie, however, if one has been told, is the older and bolder we grow, nothing is impossible.
But mountains remain mountains, whether we are two or twenty-two.
Orb Alert [Silent]
Perhaps we conquer one, or a few, but there’s always another one rising up from the horizon.
As we age, we move through stages: we aim for the stars, we are afraid to fail, we aim for the trees, we are afraid to fail.
The balance settles as decades topple on top of one another.
To fail does not signal so often. If it happens, it happens.
Shit happens.
Orb Alert [Silent]
As does death.
Is there anything more terrifying than death?
Orb Alert [Silent]
Yes. The act of dying.
Seeing the mountain, but being unable to speak it.
For in death, life still blooms. We still have something: we all become the mountain.
Orb Alert [Silent]
Shuffle.
Orb Alert [Silent]
Boxes have been shifted from one space to another {almost} Following a pattern of unknown properties. Or is it {simply} trial and error? Push and shove. Drag and drop. A 3D tangram {triangles found only in squares} to solve. But finding the solution to a problem where the solution is yet to be defined? Could be infinite? Where’s the end? {where’s the start?}
If the question was whether the bed can be cleared, then the answer is, yes. Box free. Bloody duvet {drip, drip, drip} easier to see. {strangely} the smell too {is easier to sense}. The boxes functioning as not only gatekeepers to conventional sleep, but lcoks {or plugs?} to the scent of sleep deprivation? The perfume of tossing {turning}, tears and bleeds, sad hormones suffocating happy ones, soaking sweat beads slithering over soaked-in sweat stains. Box free. Nose hell.
When you take from one, you give to another. Boxes shifted sideways {stacked} in front of the window {smothering {rambling roses {exterior everythings}}}.
Orb Alert [Silent]
Carolyn woke from sleep and fumbled the first box. Grasped the third. Demanded the sixth. Commanded the ninth. The {green} light was too bright to be. She just had to block it {capturing a sin}. It was clear to her, light for now, was not her answer.
Sitting up, propped against the headboard, Carolyn {now} recognises the game in the game. Jenga {of course}. A tower {willing to reach {the ceiling}}. She nearly laughs.
From land to sky, Carolyn reads {re-reads} the labels penned on each box. Her own hand. Her own pen. But she remembers not the writing. But it’s her scrawl. Her loops and dots.
Orb Alert [Silent]
Buzzbuzz.
She stands. Pins and needles feed both feet with pain. It’s ignored.
The red light resting in the corner.
The duvet gets whipped off the bed. A rough wave. Rough ride.
Carolyn grasps two corners with pinched fingers and covers the stack of boxes with her duvet.
As the {last remaining} natural light dies, shadows land on the {window} wall. There are boxes no more.
Only a mountain inside Carolyn’s bedroom.
Orb Alert [Silent]
Carolyn opens up the second drawer of her bedside cabinet and picks up a small box.
Orb Alert [Silent]
Shake.
Shake.
Orb Alert Buzzbuzz.
Pull
{pick
{flick
}}.
Orb Alert Buzzbuzz.
This mountain is on fire.
Orb Alert Buzzbuzz.
Orb Alert Warning! Warning! Warning! Warning! Warning! Warning! Warning! Warning! Warning! Warning!
Enter
Buzzbuzz.
An echo of a call from Coyote, was the catalyst to the soul later to be known as the Opener Of The Way, to cross the black sea and pass sideways through the slender rock fissure in the giant mountain underbelly. They ignored the whispers of escaping snakes and lizards flooding out of smaller cracks and crunched afoot on fragmented ground.
Inside was a door and walls of water, of which OOFW walked through without getting wet. Instead they heard further echoes from Coyote heralding a quest of discovery.
The water, transformed into whispers and blue eyes of starlight, worked in tandem to guide OOFW towards, and then through, another identical looking door.
On the other side was another corridor of rocks, where paired blue orbs sparkled and winked and spoke to OOFW directly between their ears.
They foretold an adventure deep within without a beginning, middle, or end.
Their voice, although many, was singular, blossomed in the gloaming, while OOFW sluiced through stalagmites and ducked and weaved through dripping stalactites. Before long, the last fading echo of Coyote was lost to the still air.
As was too the keystone logic of OOFW’s present, their memories also washed away through every one of the walls of water of no water at all.
Time was forgotten too, for the cave ate time, but in its place created doors, so OOFW wandered on, free of what they used to be, less and less so, through door after door after door.
Listening to the growing voices living in the rocks. Following the blue cats’ eyes gliding through the gaps and irregular voids in between stone. The desire to sleep grew and grew, as the light became more blue and blue.
OOFW became aware of a moon above him, which grew and grew, too.
Strange creatures were etched into the walls. Rocks started to take human forms, of animals too.
OOFW walked on open-mouthed wanting to swallow the moon, but they forgot to keep watch of the teeth of the cave that rose up and drove down and fell face forward through the next door.
Beyond this was a vast circular void with a blue ocean sky.
Rock statues pointed and forever shielded their eyes.
On his knees, OOFW scrambled back through the door, which revolved on an axis and shunted him back towards the inner circle.
OOFW kept on trying and trying, but always the pull of the room was too deep, too strong.
As they toiled, the voices grew louder and deeper and stranger, the drawings on the walls began to shimmer and shake, a heavy drone hovered overhead, while the stone statues scraped and shook and rotated until they were free of connection and ambled awkwardly towards OOFW.
The statues’ eyes opened simultaneously and they were all crystal blue.
OOFW hit the floor and fell into a slumber ad infinitum.
Inside one of their multitude of dreams, OOFW was visited by the long forgotten Coyote, who told him he would share with him the way out of this world if he completed a quest for him.
Carolyn woke up from the deepest of deep sleeps {the best in weeks}. She had fallen asleep {head curled between knees {posterior in the air}} beneath the windowsill. Her face a swarm of heat, with sticky droplets of sweat clinging to life on the edge of her chin.
The room stands hot with the smell of a fever. From her vantage the cardboard boxes tower down over her {like totems {or pyres}}.
The light is bright. It’s morning. It’s new. It creeps through the curtains and leaves bars of light and dark across Carolyn’s back.
She reaches out an arm and pulls herself up, with thanks to her duvet, still crushed by boxes.
Through shielded eyes, she dares to look. The red eye sleeps.
Television screen black. A controller nesting {perhaps choking} within its own cable.
And out from her, a thought bubble
{an echo
{Alice?}}.
Save and exit world
Up like a cat {fancy that?} Carolyn pulls {no rips} out the wires and watches the JV die in darkness. She smiles. And recognises what she is doing.
Surprised. Recognises a change in the light of the room too. Surprised still. She reaches for the screen and throws it to the wall. A few books fly off a shelf {Looking Through Glass {The Pigeon Letters {Passiflora}}}. Carolyn smiles some more.
Carolyn grabs a pair of flats and steps through the door {and another {and another}}. She’s outside on the street {walking with others in the world {again}}.
She recognises faces {and eyes {and light rays as well as shadow lines {and reflections {and sensations {fumes from trucks {overflowing bins {and bacon}}}}}}}.
Steps into a shop {without a clue {without a care}}. Goes to the cooler and takes out a single carton of milk {two pints}. Joins the queue {still smiling {still surprised}} and says {out loud}:
“Hello,” to the shopkeeper.
“Good afternoon.”
Carolyn reaches for her purse {swings left {to swing back right} and addresses the shopkeeper again {name badge reads Anastasius.}
“Good morning Anastasius, my name is Carolyn. Carolyn Los. I am 36 years old and I used to be a mother, but all I have now is a hole. But it’s my hole and I will climb out of it. I will. For her. For my Perpetua. I can see the sky. I see the sky again.”
Anastasius smiles back at the smiling woman.
“How much for this, Anastasius?”
Anastasius’ right eyebrow arches high.
“For the milk? For you … nothing. I fear you have already paid more than enough for one lifetime.”
Carolyn sighs {still smiles} and shakes Anastasius’ hand. This is the first physical contact with another for how long?
“You have a good day now.”
As Carolyn leaves, the little shop bell chimes. Carolyn begins to hum {ever so gently} a song she used to sing to her daughter {Perpetua {Pet}}. One by Bowie.
As Carolyn passes more shops she {really} sees herself in the reflections once more.
And then spies a tiny shadow crossing over hers.
“Meow?”
Shuffle.
