|  Author | Topic: The Man that was a Bookmark (Read 583 times) |
Lyall British
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Karma: 1 |  | Re: The Man that was a Bookmark
« Reply #30 on Feb 18, 2012, 11:56am » | |
He started having this dream when he was working the in monastery. It was almost always the same, with small strange deviations that he found he would understand or stumble in confusion with. It was a field at night and the grass was tall, its height to his knees and sometimes higher. Sometimes it seemed to whisper in the wind. The world has a glow to it without the light being obvious, as if everything had a small inner light even in the dark. When he bent down to look at the grass he found that it appeared not as grass but like slivers of paper cut out of a book in some strange imitation of grass. His hands reached out, plucking some of the strands of grass and he he pulled it forward, reading what was on the grass.
On the other side of that door, Delilah, covered in shawls and a hood, hunched over and playing Crone, glared hungrily. "COME ON, LET US IN."
Lyall stared at it and said softly to himself, "Delilah." When he said the name he realized he didn't recognize it at all. Maybe this was that coworker Emily... Lucy... Emily had at the place she had been. The shred of paper fell out of his hand and he looked at the sky. This was normally when he--
Sounds in the room slapped his face and he sat up. Quickly he swiped his glasses off of the nightstand and got to his feet. Lyall looked like he had experience being ambushed, he did not stay stunned. Instead, he pulled his drying shirt off of the curtain, paused like his breath was caught, folded it and put it in the drawer. His eyes went over to Emily as he pulled his hat on over his head, "Is this my trouble or your's? I don't know whose is whose in this town." Shirt, shoes, on in a flash as the door jumped, heaved and pounded with a shriek behind the door as if posessed. He went under his pillow and jammed it into his coat and looked to Emily, eyebrows arched, "You're quick on your feet, right? I can't get caught." His eyes went down to his wrist where the embedded watch was as he frowned at the time.
To the window, he threw it open into the alleyway of trash and trash-like people. People just like him, mostly. He grabbed the wretched old curtain, the one that told stories of people smoking and having sex and he threw one end out the window and looked at Emily, "Put the dresser against the door, will you? Let's buy some time." Lyall wasn't normally thought of as the handy one. The one that knew what he was doing and kept his cool. It just so happened that he understood this situation, which was one of the precious self-empowering moments in life. Maybe no one would have to break a bone. While she presumably was working on moving the dresser, he shut the window on the curtain that now hung from the window like a cloth tongue, pinned into place. He twisted the half-rotted metal latch and then used his elbow to break the glass. It shattered with regret, choking glass both ways in its mouth.
"Come on, then." He tossed his bag out the window and then looked at her, "I'm sorry." It was an apology without remorse. He quite nearly was shoving her out the window and called, "You grabbed the curtain, right? That's what it's there for, you know. To uh... keep the fall from being so rough..." he looked through the broken glass window to see if she had caught it like a drop out from a nest and slid down to a not-so-lethal-but-probably-not-safe fall.
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"A clear conscience is usually the sign of a bad memory." |
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EmilyDay
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Karma: 1 | | Re: The Man that was a Bookmark
« Reply #31 on Mar 7, 2012, 7:34pm » | |
Shattering glass. A door busting on its hinges. A conversation that lived between the silences. Wood grinding against wood as the dresser barricaded their hideaway from company. Whirlwinded, and next she knew, she was hanging, most ungainly, from nothing but haberdashery. Lovely!
"Lyall...", she sang out, swooping her glances towards the faces below. Shrieks had risen from the crowd of vagabonds, thieves and strays, pointing fingers, accusations, concern. Emily stared past her stripey stockings and heels and began waving a foot at the dozens. "Quite okay, accidents happen, hurry along now."
Swing. Swing. Swing.
Wendy Darling never had it so rough!
"Where do you propose we go now, oh Gallant hero?"
A humored frown that lost its light as a shriek rose from the woman, grip lost and a curtain became slippery rope, skirts over her head, as she went sliding down towards the trash below. Her heart remained seven stories high. "LYALLL.."
There was a clang and crash as she ended up buried in... trash. Legs over her head (was this not the theme of the day!) and her hair something her Mother would have lectured her for. But vanity had no time nor place in a garbage bin. Emily lifted her skirts with herself and edged over, lifting one leg after the other and over the wide metal... thing she was in. It was a dumpster of sorts, though below she saw a grate a ladder, to somewhere. Out of there quick! A cheerful smile to the people that gathered around her, some still awaiting Lyall's impact, some offering their hands for assistance to the delicate lady stepping from a pile of rubbish with a bananna on her head and a tomato stain across her blouse (that would take forever to scrub out)"Quite alright, thank you, thank you, hurry along now. Just a lady who fell from a window! Just a lady in the garbage bin, quite commonplace around here you'd think. Thank you! Good bye!", laughing as she waved the people off, trying to maintain something here. Trying to hurry off towards one of those crowded couches to haul it over. "Lyall, Lyally, lookit here, aim for the couch!", as her hands fanned towards it, fanned folks out of the way. "Please clear, falling man incoming, appreciate your help!" Rush of hands to push and pull the couch below the bespectacled daredevil. Emily gazed up at him, hands lifted to her face.
--
The door budged against the dresser, it couldn't widen any further. A green eye glared through the crack. Darn! They were gone! The Crone saw only sparkling glass across the floor in the faint slant of light that poured into the room. Delilah almost feel a queer sadness for the girl and boy. Why? Was it the empty room, the glass, the melancholy light. She couldn't say. She dashed towards the landing window and lifted the ragged blinds to peer past the grime-licked window below, tearing off her costume as she went. There, in the crowd, was Lucy, Emily, whoever she was. Delilah hissed displeasure, and spun, tearing off down the first of many stairs down.
--
"Oh Lyally! Aim for the couch!"
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"The trees are whispering to me, reminding me of my roots, and my reach" Jeb Dickerson
There was a girl that lost things—
Nor only from her hand;
She lost, indeed—why, most things,
As if they had been sand!
Sometimes the only available form of transportation is a leap of faith |
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Lyall British
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Karma: 1 | | Re: The Man that was a Bookmark
« Reply #32 on May 5, 2013, 9:22am » | |
He was wiping off his glasses on his shirt, adjusting them the correct distance on his nose and peering out the window with the broken-teeth to see that Lucy had, well, she had made it after all. It was like an old man trying to read a very large storefront sign.
"Good...good." He muttered to himself, though it didn't sound like he was sure that it was good at all. Good that she fell okay or good that she made it? Or good that they were somehow getting tangled up together. Knots were terrible things, he'd sooner just buy new shoelaces than to try to get them cleared up again. He was the only shoelace he had, though, so there wasn't much to be done to replace it. He would have to pick at the knot and work it out slowly. Maybe if he put it in his mouth and yanked at one of the shoelaces that way it would come undone.
"Couch?" He spoke like he hadn't heard the word before. He threw his bag out the window and then tried to lower himself down. His feet were pressed to the brick side of the building and between his spread legs he saw Emily's face. Great. She must be relishing the whole couch. Though most people sort of edged away from the commotion, there were a few that still stared on with partly gaped mouths. One woman spoke to her street mate Is he really gonna do tha? How does someone vocalize an additional L and Y to the end of his name? She was the first he heard ever pull it off without going into a cycle of stammering slurs. Shoot. Well. He looked back up to the window, exhaled and then made his drop. He thought he would feel like he was falling forever but the landing came quickly.
Mostly. On. The. Couch.
"Damn." He rubbed his tailbone where he had landed on one of the supportive boards of the couch, which had groaned as if swung at by a bat. Lyall looked at her a bit tightly, "Where are we going from here? Hmmm... I have to get to that Ms. Lauren person. You said Sherlock's...Sherman's...Oh! Sherlow's opens at eight? What time is it?" How much sleep had they really gotten? Was the sun still walking around the world or was it on its way back to morning? Lyall stood up, grabbing at her for support when he did. One had rubbed his tailbone which was all right now but would be a bitter thing the next day. Atleast it wasn't broken. He leaned down to grab his bag and looked about himself, taking a few steps which had a slight limp to them on account of his, er, couch incident. Atleast it explained why no one wanted the couch anymore.
"I suppose we better get going somewhere before we're found again," At this point he was peering at her for answers. This was her city, right? Lead the way!
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"A clear conscience is usually the sign of a bad memory." |
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