A Sunrise without a Sun

allegory, Books, Fiction, forest, Gray, Literature, Narrative, Novel, Stories, Sun, Writing

It began with sadness, bitterness and heartache. I could see your suffering and the pain in your eyes. Your lips pressing tightly, there were many things you wanted to say, but kept them in. You tried to be “ok” you, but I could see the tears of your soul. Your smile had faded away and you were barely smirking. And when you spoke, you voice was like glass, like a thin layer of glass.

The pain you were feeling, I had felt it before and at that moment I could feel it once again. I could feel your pain, thought your look, though your words, by your head down. I was there with you, I could feel it. It is not what it was meant to happen, but you could do nothing or… would do nothing. But I promised you that the pain would go away and you would be back on your feet soon. These things dissolve in the inmese sea of time, and when you least notice it, it doesn’t trouble your dreams anymore.

I had to be away for a while. In due time, I would help you to take your pain away, but in that moment you had to embarace it, feel it, live it, so you cryed. You cryed in silence and you cried for yourself. You are strong and stubborn, you needed that pain to get better, on pourpously seek for it, just to realise you had to let it go. It is weird how pain can make you stronger. I admire that. For the time I had knew you, I always saw you like a gentleman, stubborn but a sweet, caring gentlemen. One of those whose are scarse now, but it was until then, that I could see how strong you really are, how brave, how daring. I admire that even more.

Time passed, but not too long after, we met again. You were better, at least your eyes were dry. I had been having a rough time, but I was ok, I could take it, but still, I needded you and you needed me. With a dimmed light and glass of wine we sat and talk. We talked for hours, we talked of everything and yet of nothing. We talked about changing the world and of escaping it. We talk of people close to to our hears and of people we can’t stand the sight. Time went by and we became closer.

For a very long time we walked there and then back. We walked aimlessly and yet with a single direction. But all good things must come to an end. We sat on a bench and wished it was everlasting, we knew your departure was tip toeing, but there is nothing we could do, or… nothing we would do. It didn’t matte because at that moment I was there and you were here, so we enjoyed it.

On that night you smiled. I hadn’t see you doing that in a long time, perhaps since I met you. We put everything aside, ’cause only for that night, it was you and me, and nothing more. So we danced, we danced all night. We danced the night away, we dances as we had never danced before. We got closer. I looked at you and you looked at me, and we both smiled. For that moment we lived in each other eyes. Your sweet eyes, sweet handsome eyes. I will not forget your look. That moment was mine, and it will be mine forever.

You made me blush, I tried to hide it, but I couldn’t help it. I was truly happy. The time was running fast, not very soon after, the sun would come up. Discretely and jokingly I suggested to go and catch the sunrise, so that we could keep in in our pockets. Quietly you made the plan, you traced a route and found a spot on the map. We went. Ten minutes before the sunrise we were there. There was a hill and when we got to the top we sat and waited.

It was cold, for it was a winter’s morning, so you wrapped your arms around me. It was the first and the only time I would feel your embrace, your warmth. At that moment, it becamed cloudy and a little windy, drops of water started falling. But you were here and I was there, and we were still eager to see the dawn. Slowly we saw the night turn into day, darkness become light, but there was no sun. For a while we waited, we had high hopes, but we would not see it, so eventually we left.

That was your last night. You packed your things and took that plane, there is nothing you could do, or…would do. You had to go back and face it all. Be brave, be courageous. You had to go on and I had to do the same. Time passed. But sometimes I stop and think of that sunrise. It was just like you and me. It was nature mocking us, the story we would never have. We would forever had a sunless dawn, a flower that will never flourish, a forest that never grew tress. A sunrise without a sun.

The Narrow Road

allegory, Fiction, forest, Literature, Narrative, Narrow, Novel, Road, seasons, Stories

WALKING

What a wonderful pleasure it is to walk. To be able to get from one place to another by your own means. Without the need of any other device. Yes, it might take longer, but you would have achieved it by yourself. That is what Rocco always thought. He could have gotten himself a bicycle, but he never did. However he arrives where he wants and the time he intends to. He prefers walking alone, but sometimes he allows the eventual friend to walk along with him. He does not has many of those. Not many friends, partially because he is thinks he might slow them down and partially because they might slow him down.

THE NARROW ROAD

Everyday, enough before sunset, I take a shortcut home. It is a narrow road I discovered a few months back and ever since then I use it. It is mostly straight with only a few turns. It goes through some city farms and there are a few other roads intersecting it. It was mostly built next to a stream of crystalline water. This is just a small creek, but the flow of water calms me down from the city rush. I cannot tell where the stream comes from and where is it going. I would not know. As streams usually flow down the hill, but there are also those that flow up. Some kind of magnetism perhaps. It would be nice to know, but this road is rather flat and I cannot tell where is up and down the hill. So I just keep walking and pretend to ignore it.

On the left side there are some crops. At some point they are short with wide long leaves and further in they become taller with smaller darker leaves. He often wonders what kind of crops they are. He could have asked his grandfather, who was a skilful farmer. But he only keeps the regret of not spending more time with him. Over all he regrets not spending more time with his family. He always sets himself to do so, but never really does.

AFTER THE MIST

Rocco seldom wanders on the converging roads. And yet he knows that wandering is how wondrous places are found. So on this mid-autumn evening he walked and walked with an explorer’s heart.Often asking himself how much longer, but he did not know for sure. He knew he would get to where he wanted at the right time. He had a few songs in his mind but he could not remember the lyrics, just the tunes and they were his only company.

Further in, there were also a few lizard on the road, the kind that would only go out at night and have brighter colours. The closer he got, the more the vivid the colours. He had his pockets full of emotions and he hold tight to them as a thick mist came down. But he kept on walking.

Finally, with the first ray of light he found it. I was a forest. It was mysterious and alluring. However, the only way to get to it was to cross a rather stronger stream than the crystalline one that flows next to the narrow road. There wasn’t any bridge on sight, so he stayed on the other side and admired it from the distance.

After a while, he decided to go back and soon realized that the forest was not as far as he thought.

FLOWER GIRL

On an afternoon in late winter, he was walking on his usual path when in one of the other roads, he saw a girl. She was carrying a basket full of flowers.

I would not know what kind of flowers were they. I just know they were yellow. Unintentionally I slowed down my pace and stared at her. She noticed me as she walked by and gave a tiny smile. She did not stop, just kept walking and then she crossed a bridge that was ahead. I could only think on how I would never see her again, but I felt very attracted to the girl with the flowers. I wanted to cross over and ask for her name, but as I was in front of the bridge I pretended not to notice her and kept walking. I would not know what to say. So I let her go.

A couple a weeks later he saw her again. She saw him in the distance and kept walking, very similar to the first encounter. Rocco imagined she had forgotten him, as they had only shared less than a second staring at each other, and then there was the smile she send him. That smile that kept him awake for many nights. However, this time he decided to ignore her, to act as if she was not too important, and keep walking.

In a blink she had disappeared and Rocco immediately regretted his decision. He closed his eyes, and wished he could turn back time just a few second and ask for her name. So he stopped walking and frowned in disappointment, in disappointment of himself.

A moment later he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turn around. It was her! And she was smiling.

-“Hi! Why don’t you come walk on the other roads? They are wider.”- She said and waited for his reply, but as Rocco was too surprised to answer she offered him one of the flowers in the basket.

I knew that if I answer I would stammer, so I pretended I hadn’t notice her before. I did not even smile and took the flower, but she did not let go waiting for an answer.

-“I like this road.”- I said coldly regretting my attitude immediately.

She let go of the flower, smiled once again and left. I wanted to follow her, but I would not know what to say. So I didn’t.

ACROSS THE BRIDGE

Rocco did not see her for a few days. All this time he kept telling to himself that he would not let her go the next time. And so, one of the first days of spring he saw her cross the bridge without noticing him. He fisted my hands as giving himself strength and then followed her over the bridge. This time, he spoke first.

-“Hi!”- He said, very shyly.

She did not reply, just smiled. But she stopped. She had stopped walking just for him. So, now he had all her attention and continued:

-“What is your name?”- He wanted to say so much more, but that is the only thing he could think of. He was sure that just by knowing her name, he would know much more about her.

-“Maia”- She said, and smile again. Rocco wished she did not smiled that much, as he was getting more and more nervous.

-“I am Rocco.”- He said and was finally able to smile back.

That was our first conversation. The first of many. I soon discovered that she was not a local and she tried to teach how to pronounce her name in her native language, but it was hard for me. Then she said that it was fine, as she had been here so long that she was used to just being Maia.

FLOWERS

She’s lived very near to our first encounter, in a farm-house. Her passions were flowers and she had a green house in her backyard and a flower shop in the city. Her flowers would take most of her time. She delicately cared for them and spend long hours making sure they would not only grow healthy but perfectly.

She tried to explain to me the difference between a lotus and a magnolia, but besides the colour I could tell no difference. But as you can see, I learned the names. In contrast to me, she did had a bicycle and enjoyed taking the local bus. When she walked she would usually prefer wider roads fuller of people. Sometimes I would walk with her, but mostly I made her walk though the ones I preferred.

She told me a lot about her country and other places she had seen. I often wondered why she stayed in this city, but I fear the answer so I did not asked her so I would not know. But I wanted to know, so I set myself to see those places with my own eyes and get there with my own feet. And I would do so.

THE BUILDING OF THE BRIDGE

Rocco wanted to show her the forest, as he knew she would like it. But he had forgotten where it was. When he finally found it again, he took her there. This time the stream was stronger than before therefore Rocco thought they could not cross and suggested to just admire it from the distance, as he had done before.

-“You don’t think you can build a bridge and show me what is there?”- She asked. “I know it will take you a little while to take me there, but I just hope it is not too long.”- She said and made a pause. Maia looked at her feet then slowly spoke again.- “I will be right here with you.”-

So I did. I built a bridge just for her and me. I took me shorter that I thought it would, and as soon as it was ready I took her back.

THE FOREST

For the coming weeks we would meet each other everyday on a special spot that was right after crossing the bridge. The forest was magnificent. It was worth every second I spent sawing and hammering the wood for the bridge.

Everyday we would explore and discover a different side. A new part of it. Each area was more magical than the previous one. One afternoon we found a little pond. It was perfectly clean and did not have any wild weed. The water was clear and refreshing. But the most intriguing feature was that it only had white and blue fish that could talk. They did not say much, though. They would only ask us to let them swim and so we did. Who would ever want to fish these creatures?

And nobody would know about them, for we would not tell. That is how we realized that nobody else should know about this forest. They might find it and change it. And it should be kept just as it was. It was out secret. Our place.

A few days later we found some marshes. There were frogs there, and they were croaking and making beautiful music. It was merely the afternoon but the fireflies were already up and dancing at the frogs melody.

Some nights during summer, we would stay during the night and count the stars reflected in our eyes.

The forest was indeed magical and we did not want to forget all the beautiful things we had encounter so we made a map. But we would keep it hidden so nobody would find it.

WINTER

For a couple of years it was only Maia and I. Was it love, I would not know? But being with her remind me of a warm spring morning, full hope and colour. The touch of her skin gave me life and she was the only reason of my happiness. I was a different person or so I thought, until that winter day when she did not come.

Rocco waited for her, and looked everywhere but she wasn’t there. He felt desperate and betrayed. The only thing in his mind was that she had spoked about the forest with somebody else. That she had betrayed him, that she had betrayed everything they did. Never before in his life he felt like this. He could not control it and there were many thoughts in his mind. Before the last ray of sun light he went home.

They next day, when it was the usual time to go to the forest he didn’t go. He could only think of how he had felt the previous day and he was determined to never feel like that again. Two days after he did not go either, nor the day after, or the day after that. Soon the days became weeks and he stopped thinking about Maia. He repressed his feelings and pretended to ignored them.

Perhaps there were too many emotions surrounding him and not longer in his pocket, so one day he grabbed his backpack and decided to see the places he once set himself to see with his own eyes and reach with his own feet.

Before he left he city he decided to see the forest one last time. If Maia had told many people about it, then it would have definitely changed, but he needed to see it.

When we finally stood right before the bridge he built he stopped. His knees weaken with the sight in front of him. He felt his back pack heavy so he took it off and dropped it.

Maia was right across the bridge, standing in the same spot they used to meet.

She smiled with an effort and dropped her basket of flowers, dead flowers. She wanted to cry one more time, but her eyes were already dry.

– “You stopped coming, but I never did. On day I was late, as some of my flowers were dying. I tried to saved but they died anyway. I ran to find you, but it was already dark when I arrived. After that I rarely left this spot for I knew one day you would come back. But now I see, you came back for the forest and not for me.”- She stopped for a moment to take a breath and finally one tear came out. -“take the map with you, so you don’t forget it, for I know that you and your walking will get very far. “-

Rocco took the map and hold her for a moment. He took her home and got a glimpse of the greenhouse. It was once colourful and even butterflies and bumblebees would come in, but now it was grey and mostly dead. He regretted all that happened but now his back pack was ready.

He kissed Maia’s forehead and left. Before he closing the door, he placed the map on a table near by.

Then he continued walking by the narrow road.

Sublimed. Installment III. Harmonized Sound. Part I

Books, Fiction, Installment III, Literature, Music, Narrative, Novel, Stories, Sublimed, Writing

The rain did not stop that night, nor the day after. On the third day of rain, we found ourselves still eager to have the second flying practice. Nevertheless, during this time we spoke of many things. He told me how he ended up in the Zephyr Town. I tried to get more realistic details, but all he said was this rather poetic explanation.

“I was supposed to go to the sea; it reminds me of someone, but my wings brought me here.”

As mysterious as he is trying to be he must have come on the train, because that is the only transportation that comes here. Nevertheless, I was curious about the woman he often thinks about, so I asked him about her. He said, her name is Lia, or was it Gia, yes! That is it! Gia. Balth spoke freely about her and since he appeared to do it comfortably I dare to dive into his mind once more. He could not notice, but I was living every memory he spoke. I feel like I have actually met Gia. Outstanding girl, brave and above all, free. She changed him, she inspired him, she is his muse. Then I could sense some sadness, I believe it was because he misses her. Right after that he stop speaking and I could not see any more. I wonder where she is now, Balth does not seem to know, but I would very much like to know if the they have a happy ending together. I think of my and Gethy, what would it be of me if I lost her when she died?

It is almost time for supper and I am trying to come up with something nice and simple to prepare. Mrs. Henrietta, the cook, taught me some recipes, but that was a long time ago and it has been a while since I do not cook anything or need anything to eat. Gethy enjoys making dinner when we have guest and I am usually her assistant. She always says I cook better than her, but I have tasted my own food and I know it is not like like that. Now let me see, what will today’s supper be? There is not so much felt in the kitchen. Bread, tomatoes, potatoes, carrots. Stew will have to do.

I hear Balth approaching, but instead of coming down into the kitchen he stops just by the stairs. Something has caught his attention. I think I can leave the stew on the stove for a few minutes. I am curious to know what is he looking at. Half up the stairs I hear couple of wandering notes and then another two. I keep going up until I hear it clearly, the piano. We were once inseparable and now it is resting under a fine piece of cloth. As it was getting dusty, Gethy covered it with a red, velvety fabric. Now the delicate piece of textile is lying on the floor while Balth is standing in front of my piano.
“This is amazing! I always wanted one, but my parents house is too small, as all the other places I have lived in.” He sincerely says mumbling the last part. Genuineness, it always come around more often after I start roaming somebody’s head. Although it should be entirely the opposite since I am actually trespassing.

“But even if I had a piano, it is likely that I would never learn. I never made time for music.” He continues, showing a touch of regret, then he stops for a moment to think and then asks “Can you play?”

With a grin and without words, I take out the bench, sit on it and start playing. I begin with two short melodies, not too complicated but just delightful enough for our ears and my hands. “Painting with the piano, the keys as brushes”. That is what somebody told me once. “And the canvas?” I replied. “Your audience ears.” That is one of the most rewarding comments I had. It has been so long since I had an audience. So I continue playing, allowing the music fill not only the room but also our hearts and minds. It brought me back to the time when our parents had parties and Alessio and I would entertain the guest. There were not many children in town who were interested in harmonized sound. Years later, Gethy and Todd joined, she played the violin and Todd the tambourine. We were quite the sensation and we liked the attention.

I raise my look and -“teehee”- there is Balth with that amusing expression one more time, bereft of speech. As for myself, I cannot stop playing, I do not want to. While the music continues I close my eyes and let it take over me. My fingers on the piano know every note so I let them take control and allow the notes music roam lose in the air. I get to the part of the adagio and subsequently I begin to sense them. I open my eyes and this is not a vision. They cannot be seen yet but I can feel the voices of the forest. So I stop

I abruptly stop.

“What is the smell?” For the next few seconds, we stare at each other trying to determine the source of the smell, but none of us moves to investigate.

“The kitchen” Balth finally says.

Of course! How could I forget? I run down the stairs and leap for the last five steps. I lose balance for a second but then I run to the kitchen. The stew is not burning yet, but it is about to, so I take it off the stove. What was the smell, then? I stop and look around. I see smoke come out of the oven. Without thinking too much about it I open it and the next thing I know is that I am submerged in a pool of smoke. The fire has already gone out taking all the bread with it. Balth comes in and helps me open the windows and the door. The rain has not stopped but the strong wind quickly takes the smoke away. So we able to close up before anythings gets wet.

Our next reaction is to start laughing. It is unimaginable the adventures one can have without leaving the house. The jokes started, specially about the cinder covering most of my face. Then he leaves for a few moments and goes get an uncanny looking device. It is black and a little larger than his hands. He does not explains too much, as he assumes I am familiar with the object. It looks a lot to a daguerreotype, but not quite the same. He stands in front of me, counts to three, tells me to smile and subsequently a big light comes directly to my face. I am a little startle so as protection from the unknow light my wings spread and surrounds me, but then I realize it was just a photograph. Balth cannot see my wings, for I do not allow it. The same as he cannot understand my language, but I enabled his ears. And this was just a photograph. Yes! that is what that was. Now there will be an undying record of my stunning cooking skills.

I have seen photograph recorders before, but they are not so popular in Zephyr yet. It is not our intention to be so secluded, but there are barely accesses. The train only comes once a week if the wind is amiable and there are enough passengers.

Sublimed. Installment II. Tarmalines

Books, Fiction, Installment II, Literature, Narrative, Novel, Stories, Sublimed, Writing

“Come on! Hurry! Do not get too wet.” I say while holding the house door open for Balth. It was our first flying lesson, but the rain became pouring too harsh, plus the already strong wind, we were simply forced to come back. I told Balth he could stay with me for a few days until the wind calms down and we are able to go down the mountain. I do not mind the company, in truth be told I quite enjoy it. We used to be so many around the house, but now it is only Gethy and me, and she is away. We usually visit her brother together, but this time it was meant for me to stay and wait for her. Here comes Balth, I better get a towel for him. This rain could get anybody indisposed in no time.

“Here! take this towel and quickly go put on some dry clothes. I will prepare some hot tea. Come down when you are ready.”

“Gee! Thank you! That storm started menacing since late morning, but it took so long that I reckoned it would just go away.” He says without looking at me and trying to dry himself.

“Weather on these mountains comes and goes as it pleases. We can never be too careful, but at least it waited until the end of the afternoon. ”

“Is it always like this?” he says while realizing he is still dripping.

“Yes, as it would seem we are not only at the wind but also at the rain mercy. As a matter of fact, I can barely count the days when the sky was clear and the sun smiled to us. When we were kids, we were caught in bad weather many times, and came back home all wet and muddy, but even so, we always preferred outdoors.” I say as I turn around and walk to the kitchen. He has now placed the towel around his neck, but instead of going up to change, he follows me. I momentaneously realize I might be exaggerating for I have many memories under the sun light. I even remember days when we had to look for shade and then it comes to my mind all the cheerful moments under the tarmaline tree. I better tell him about this, or he will think Zephyr Town is not only tiny but gloomy.

“Actually, even though it does rain enough to keep the verdant of the mountain, we have just as enough bright and warm days. There was a time that in those days we would spend our afternoons eating tarmalines. Do you have tarmalines where you live?” I ask him and place the pot with water on the fire.

“I have heard of them, but never have I seen or tasted one.”

“Oh! but you must! They are usually silver with velvety peel, but inside they are sometimes blue, sometimes purple, or red, or orange, or green or practically any colour you can imagine. You can never know which is which. You have probably heard stories about them, some say the colour depends of what you are feeling, what you are really feeling. Some even say that they predict future or even bring luck. People also say that they all taste the same. Regardless of what people say, I prefer the purple ones, they usually taste sweeter.”

“Do they really?” He asks skeptically.

“Of course, but you will have to chose your favorite by yourself.”

“I have heard some stories. Do you have any now?”

“No. Not right now. If it does not rain tomorrow we should to go to town and get some. They usually grow in a lower part of the mountain, but there used to be one right in the middle of the road coming from Gethy’s house to mine. That is where we first met.”-It was so long ago, but I close my eyes and feel as a little boy again playing with my brother and then suddenly she is there. How much I love her! and how much I miss her now that she is away. Balth pulls out a chair and sits to hear the story. As I begin to talk we both forget of the thunders outside and our wet clothes.

“There was not a road before, we made it through the many times coming and going from our houses. It all began that day that mother insisted that Alessio and I go to town for some errands. I have forgotten what we were supposed to do, but on our way we saw a boy. He was carrying a brown ball which drew our attention greatly. His affairs seemed far more interesting than ours. He caught us glancing at him, so we rose our hands up, as if asking him to pass the ball. He doubted for a few seconds but then he did. Just like that we became friends. We played for a while until the ball got stuck on a tree, the tarmaline tree. Alessio, who was the oldest and tallest one, climb up to retrieve it, but as he jumped down we were startled by a girl’s voice. She was calling her brother’s name, Todd. That is how we learned his name, for we had not asked him yet.”

The water is boiling now, so I point at the pot to let him know that I need to pause my story and put the fire out. I have forgotten how to properly make tea, so I stop for a second to figure out the right measure of tea leaves, when I finally do I stop again to remember where the golden edged tea set is. Gethy would not like it if she knows we had guests and I used the old set. Darn! I cannot find it, so I guess normal mugs will have to do. After all this is not a tea party. I finish pouring the tea and in those few seconds before I go back to the table it all passes through my head. I remember how the-six-years-old me felt when I first saw her. I was paralysed for a few seconds by her beauty, my lips got numb and my knees weak. Alessio must have felt something similar, because it was impossible not to, but he never acknowledged it, seeing that I loved her since that first moment.

“Here, I hope you like the tea, it is from our garden. There is some sugar over here, if you would like.” Balth thanks me and takes two teaspoons of sugar. I pull out a chair, sit and continue my story.

“The girl asked her brother if he was alright and who were we, but Todd did not respond, instead he used his hands and made a series of signs with them along with a few sounds. Alessio and I were confused at first but then the girl turned and sweetly smiled at us. Very eloquently she presented herself and said her name was Gernelthy and that the name of her brother was Theormod, but that he could not pronounce it, so everybody knew him as Todd. She continued to explain that her brother was partially silent and partially uncoordinated and that was the reason he had to use his hands and voice to make himself understandable. We were half perplex for what she was saying and half bedazzled by this girl’s beauty, which we could not seam to understand hence we could not speak a single word.”

I take a sip of my tea which is not too hot anymore. “A few tarmalines had fallen down the moment Alessio retrieved the ball; by now Todd had already picked up the good ones and was sharing them with us. It helped break the uncomfortable moment and we finally introduced ourselves as Edrecchio and Alessio. During the rest of the afternoon we stayed under the shade of the tree talking about many things trying to get to know each other. We find out that she and I are the same age and that I am barely seventeen days older than her. She said that Todd took care of her because he is a year older than her, but at the same time she took care of him because there are many boys that like to pick on him. Alessio told her that she needs not to worry anymore; he says that from that day on we would also be his brothers and to prove so we changed our names to Ecco and Esso, something that Todd could pronounce them.”

“And you still go by that name.”

“Of course, both Alessio and I adopted our short names, but Alessio lives in a different place now, somewhere far away and he has to use his complete name now.”

“I see. Where is he?”

“He lives in Ecru Burh. The only place I could think of where there are no mountains only a vastness of sand and a deep ocean at the end. Sometimes I wonder if he would not prefer to be here, in the windy mountains of Zephyr.”

“Ecru Burh? Where is that exactly?”

“The Sand City. The original name is Ecru Burh. ”

“The Sand City, of couse! I have been there before.”- Balth says, then he lowers his eyes and make a pause, as if he was digging into his memory. This moment is a window for me and I am able to visualize some of the images that are running through his head. I am about to grasp it, when he starts speaking again. -“I remember the sand-guards and there is a light festival, or am I mistaken?”

“No. It is precisely there.”- I respond with a grin. I could read that thinking on Ecru Bruh brings back the memory of someone of great importance to him. I can tell. I want to ask him about the time he was there, but he is faster and asks me something else.

“What does your brother do there? ”

“Well, you will be surprise and it is quite a story, but I will shorten it out for you. In one of the adventures we had, we met this girl with whom he fell in love. This girl happens to Ecrutian, or from the Sand City. If she would have been any other person, I would have probably succeeded in convincing him of bringing her here, but it turned out she is of the duchesses. If you remember when you were there, being one of the duchesses means she is the sister of the high Ecrutian ruler of the Burh. Oh! so many titles, I get overwhelmed by them. Anyway, as you can see, that is also the reason why he has to use his complete name.”

He is trying to smile and digest all what I have just said, but -“teehee”- There it is, that amusing expression again. Mouth agate with daze, overrun, stupefy, or all of them at once.

“I could not do it. The wind is for me, the sand is too dry and the ocean too wet. But, at least when I visit him, I get to ride a mantine.” – I suppouse he knows what a mantine is, or perhaps not.- “You know, a mantine, a domesticated stingray. They are very docile”

“Sorry, I did not see any when I was there.”

“Well, next time you go there, ask for my brother and he will personally take you on a mantine ride, although nothing is like a Zephyr bird.” I proudly say, but in truth swimming on a mantine is almost as exciting as flying.

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A mantine: a fictional animal from the Emerald world, very similar to a stingray.

Sublimed. Installment I. Agata and Jasper

Books, Fiction, Literature, Narrative, Novel, Stories, Sublimed, Writing

“I will tell you a name and it is the only name that matters. All the others are just part of the story that you will hear from me and if you cannot recall them at the end, do not trouble your mind with it. For the name I am going to tell you is important.”- I tell my guest, trying not to confuse him, but he seems more bewildered than what I would like him to be. I have been avoiding to talk too much about her, but she is the most important person in my life and if Balth is to continue staying with me for the coming days I will need to to cut all this mystery. -“mmm, perhaps I should first give you some background story …”- I make a long pause staring at him while deciding where to begin, but when I look at Balth all I see is a decent lad, with outsider ears that will only deny the veracity of my tale. I am a person who relishes good stories, both hearing and narrating them. But if he wants to hear about me, he must be stoical and ready to be astonish and a little overwhelmed, for my story is not easily grasped. I believe it will be better if I omit some details. I’ve got it! I know where to begin!

“Follow me!”

” eh? Where?”

“I am going to show you something. The birds, of course.” I say, while already stepping out of the house and walking with a quick pace to the barn. Balth is startled, but he just hurries after me.

“Wait! Slow down a little! I thought you were amidst a very important name.” He says by trying to stop me and change my mind. For he has a growing curiosity.

“I was! I mean, I will tell you, but later. You have to understand, there are many things I need to first say. Too many …”- .

“Right! But we will have time.” -Balth interrupts- ” As you said, the strong winds will not appease until next week. I am up for a good story, besides, Zephyr town is beautiful but, you have to admit, it is a bit tiny and there are not many things to do”.

I do not like his comment and I cannot stop my face from frowning so I walk faster to conceal it. I do not consider Zephyr town to be dull, but perhaps I am blinded by the love to this town. I am foreigner as well, but I have spent all the years of my life here. And I have so many memories, oh so many memories! I am sure he will change his mind once he sees Zephyr Town from my favorite angle, from the sky.

“You could be right, Zephyr Town could be a little small. But the fact is, it is not. It is just, you have yet to see the best. That is why, my dear Balth, I have just decided to teach you how to fly.” I add with a grin, while opening the barn where Agata and Jasper are.

Teehee! His expression is amusing. “Surprised”? No.. that is not it. “Austanded”, “Thrilled”. Maybe all of them at once. I do not think he was expecting to learn how to actually fly, at least not in the literal meaning of the word. He talks about having wings and adventuring to many places, but that is not the same as ‘flying’. “Excitement”, “Elated”, “Exhilarated” that is what I feel when thinking of hopping onto Jasper and feeling the wind upon my face.

“Balthazar, let me introduce you to Agata and Jasper.” The birds turn their face as their hear their names. They usually have a serene look, but they both make a disapproval expression as soon as they notice Balth. They raise their necks to look more imposing, but they keep composure. I get closer and then signal Balth to slowly do the same. I am keeping a friendly tone to let Agata and Jasper know that he is a friend, so they relax, but I know they are not completely off-guard.

“These two are one of a kind.”-I say while petting them. They love a good scratch on their necks.- “The day you went to the cathedral you may have noticed that the Zephyr town birds are unusually big and they are sturdy enough to carry four people. These birds normally have short beaks and necks, big round eyes and mostly white feathers. Remember? But as you can see, Agata and Jasper are not solely white. They have this red spot on the back of their long necks and when they spread their wings you can see different tones of blue. See? My favorite feature are these long feathers right above their eyes, so long that they reach the back of their heads. Let me get them out for you so you can see the details by yourself.” -I say while gesturing him to wait. I first get Jasper out of his stall and then Agata. I need to haul them a little before they come out.- “Aren’t they magnificent? If I am not mistaken, you would recognize them as herons. However Agata and Jasper have grown larger and are strong enough to carry a person.”

“I can not exactly recall how a heron looks like, but Jasper and Agata are truly superb. Is it my eyes or are they glowing a little? ”

“You are right, they are! They glow. So we can fly them with the night-light as well. But that is not only them, all of our birds here do.”

“How do you accomplish that?”

“That, my dear friend, is an old secret.” I say while trying to be as mysterious as possible, the fact is, I do not know. They just do, it might be the wind, or more likely the sun we have , but I can not be certain enough.

“I see. Being so different from the others, how did they come to you?”

“That is something I do can tell you. We have had them all our lives. And it all started one afternoon when Gethy and I found ourselves on ….”

“Gethy”?” Balth interrupts with confusion.”Is that…?”

“Oh!”- I suddenly remember I have not told him her name yet. We have finally come to the rightful beginning of my story, and it is time to place all the pieces in order. -“Yes, well, here is the name I wanted to tell you, and it is very important. You should remember it, even though you might think it is difficult to learn. “Gernelthy”. It is a name from old times. But we all call her Gethy. Ehm, at least I do.”

“Gerthy? Gernethy? Gernelthy?”

“Right! You’ve got it. Gernelthy. Er… As I was saying, It all started the afternoon we found ourselves on a lost road near the lake. At the time we were children and we were still too short to fly, but that did not stop us, for we had our bikes. We were fearless and we did not care if we were riding on the road, or over the hills not even if it was on marshes. If we thought of a place we would just go. Todd, her older brother and Alessio my older brother would usually come riding with us, but not that day. That day it was only the two of us near the lake on the other side of the mountain. Oh! that is a good place to practice your flying skills. ” I stop for a moment to think on the training we need to do, but then I remember I was already talking about something else.

“Anyway, that day near the lake we saw two hatchlings. They were squeaking for food and it was rather loud. They were trying to call for their mother, but she was nowhere to be seen. We feared the squeaking would attract something else, so we searched for worms and tried to feed them. But, of course, they do not eat worms. We did not know that at the time, and that kept us busy great part of the afternoon. It was getting late and the mother was not getting back so we kept waiting. The two hatchlings, however, would not stop on squealing and squeaking. Then Gethy tough that perhaps they were cold, so, by taking a big risk, she took them out of their nest and hold them in her arms. She got bit more than a few times, but she managed to calmed them down with her warmth. Soon after they fell asleep. But the mother did not come back. We waited a little longer, but now dusk was upon us. We had to make a decision, we could have put them back to the nest, but they would have started squeaking again, and that would have soon attracted something else. So our other options was to bring them back home. Perhaps not the brightest of ideas and there was the problem of “what will our parents say?”

“I believe they let you keep them.” He says a little doubtful.

“And here we are. They were very small compared to our birds but we raised them just as so. For many years we feared they would not grow large enough to be ridden. Turns out they did, but as I said, they can only carry one.” – Here comes the best part. – “The perks are that they are fast, very fast and more agile than you can imagine. Just look at the beak, long, pointy and it is perfect for making its way through the wind.” I do not even need to close my eyes to see myself flying on Jasper, I can almost feel the wind on my face, the speed, the adrenaline running through my veins. I can feel Jasper’s heart beating as fast as mine and I know he can feel mine. We are unstoppable. We can fly so high and in a second be back on the ground. We can spin and turn in less than a blink.

“Can I?”- he says interrupting my thoughts. Does he want to touch the beak or just pet her head?

“I suppose you could try.” I will just let him and see what happens. Nothing too bad I hope. Agata is not going to like this.

Clank! Clank!

Clank!

“Ahhh!”

“Teehee, Teehee” I should not laugh at this, but now he knows it is not a good idea to touch their beaks.

“Come! I will teach you how to properly approach them.”

Beguiling Catalyst: Part II. Installment II. Glinting Pond.

Beguiling Catalyst, Fiction, Literature, Narrative, Stories, Writing

All these year, like a life-time, all those places, all the people I have met and I am still not able to tell her my thoughts and feelings. There is so much I want to tell her, so much I need her to know, but I am behaving just as if I saw her yesterday. As if the sight of her comes everyday, as the pictures I kept from her. And what about her? She used to be so passionate. Isn’t she happy to see me? Or perhaps she does not wants me to be here. She is talking to be as if she just saw me yesterday and I can feel like she is forcing a smile. Why? What has this city done to her spirit? Where is that sparking catalyst that showed me how to live? Now our conversation is coming to an end, but I feel like if we have not really spoken, I feel like I have not really seen her again.

“Would you like to see the glinting pond? I know you will like it there” She says catching my attention. It is a glimpse to what I remember of her. “Near the edge of the city,” she continues “there is a pond. Not like any other ponds you have seen. First we must cross the birch forest, it is not very long, but just going there is an adventure itself. The forest is perennial, and in eternal autumn. With red, orange and yellow leaves that never fall, but they always look like they are about to. There is no clear road through the forest to the pond, but with the first step in the forest it opens before your eyes. The road is guided by butterflies, you do not see them coming, for theirs wings get lost in the leaves.” The way she describes it is luring me, but what I really want is to walk that magical road with her. ” We will then notice the forest becomes less and less dense and then finally we will see it. It is something worth watching once. Would you like to see it?”

“Of course I wish to see it, it sounds like something I cannot miss while I am here.” I wished to tell her that I would go anywhere with her, and that I do not want to lose the sight of her, now that she is in front of me. But my tongue speaks in a different direction than my heart. “How do we get there?”

After all this years I get to hear his voice again. Dreams are never the same as actually him. It is so good to see him, specially because he looks so handsome. That smile still makes me blush … even here. Even here. But, how I wish he did not had to come, at least not yet. I had planned a few more trips for him. It is really a pity. I enjoyed seeing all those places through his eyes, and then over and over again in his dreams. He needs to know what has happened, he needs to see the pond. I was mesmerized the first time I saw it. It is a pond not of water, but of light. The trees around it, are bowing to it offering their flowers. I think they are white and pink magnolias, I never knew many flower names. I am almost sure I recognized them.

It took me a while to understand but then I finally knew. This city was to be my home, and I would never grow old here, only if I wanted to, of course. I was now free, but I could not cross back that magnificent bridge again. I came here too early, though, while I was still thirsty for the world across. I remember kissing him and a few days later I found myself delighted with the skyscrapers of the city.The light of the pond showed me how I came to come here. The train I came in had already show me in details they things I did, the places I went and the people I met. I did so many things before. I used to be so curious, doubts were not allowed in my mind. I used to be brave, not fearless but brave. He needed to live like I knew how to and so I showed him through dreams. I described this place as if it was another destination, and he knew that one day he would come. I just wished it was not just yet.

“We open up our wings and we fly.” She finally said, with a smile that reminded me of the woman I have always dreamt of. We did as she said, we flew.

The End.

Note to my dear readers:

This was the last installment of the “Beguiling Catalyst”. I really hope you enjoyed it and that I was able to make the words dance in your imagination. I welcome all types of feedback. It is my first published story and I am really looking forward to know what you think.

Do not forget to subscribe! Thank you to the ones that already did, It means a lot to me and encourages me to keep writing.

Here are the links for previous Installments

Part I

Installment I.

Installment II. The Flower City

Installment III. The Serpent Girl

Installment IV. Gray Eyed Man

Installment V. The Six-Edge Cathedral

Installment VI. Ephemeral

Part II

Installment I. White

Installment II. Glinting Pond

Beguiling Catalyst: Part II. Installment I. White

Beguiling Catalyst, Fiction, Literature, Narrative, Stories, Writing

Where is she? I am sure she got here earlier than me. At least she always used to be, even though I was very punctual. Mmm… I wonder about this place, I know I have never been here before and yet it seems so familiar. Maybe that is the reason she told me to come here. I will just look for a place to sit. Let’s see.. ehm… oh… there she is. How come I did not see her before? She is all in white, and that lovely a big whtie hat can not be missed. Is it really her? She still looks so young. Slightly older than when I last saw her. When I last kissed her. Why is that moment again in my mind? It was so long ago that she probably does not remembers. She is wearing that same colour of lipstick I had to wash from my lips that night. And that smile! I am so glad she still has it.

There he is! And he is wearing blue, I’ve always liked him better with that colour. Let’s see the clock. Yes! Late as usual. Not that times matters in here, but I am almost sure he does not knows yet. I am wearing this big white hat and he still cannot see me? The years have not changed that, I can see. Better signal him before he goes somewhere else. OK, finally! I am so glad he kept his beard all this years. Take off your sunglasses, I want to see your eyes! Take them off! Take them off! Yes! Those charming big black eyes, so good to see them in person once again.

The amount of drinks in this coffee shop is extensive, maybe I should let her order for me. After all, she used to do that quite often and I always liked what she recommended. I will just say that it is for good-old times. She will be glad to do it, I am sure. She looks so lovely while reading the menu. I cannot stop gazing at her. But there is something else about her, she is beautiful, of course, but it is not that what is luring me now. I see her and I get the feeling that she is made of light, similar as when I was in the Six-edge Cathedral and saw the birds in the distance. As if she has some halo around her, maybe it is her dress, yes! it must be that.

“Is everything alright?” She says, giving me a glimpse.

“Of course, it is just I cannot believe it is actually you.” I say, feeling rather amazed that I did not hesitated, being here, in front of her makes me feel just like a lad again, as if time had not passed and we are just in a coffee shop in our city.

“I have missed you too. But I was always happy to hear about you and your stories, and now you are here.” She replies, with a sweet smirk. “You know what story I really enjoyed? The time when you and Ecco went to Adagio Village.”

Cute tiny village. Every time I spoke with Ecco, he mentioned how he wanted to go there and so one day I went with him. Everything moves very slow there, perhaps it is the cold, or perhaps the food, we never found out. It is built over the Adagio river, widest, but friendliest I have ever seen. The town is mostly bridges and platform. All neat and tidy and everything in its place. A little girl from the shops told us that her favorite place in the world was the waterfall. Right after she said that, she shed a tear. Ecco asked her what could we do to help her.The girl said that it would soon freeze and she would never see it flow again. I tried to explain that it would only be like that until summer comes back, but she did not believed my words.

The next morning we packed our things and went to the waterfall. The girl was right, it was a marvelous place to see. Surrounded by trees covered with yellow and pink flowers in spite of the cold. Even frogs and crickets could be heard. I wished I could stop the ice from taking all of that away and Ecco shared my thoughts, but we understood that we would never see that place like that again. We camped there for two nights. We wished we could stay longer but the cold would not allow it. We took three pictures of the place, one we gave to the girl back in the village, one Ecco took and one is here with me so that I can show her the place. I know she went to that Village before but I know she did not see the waterfall.

“I see Ecco sometimes” She says, leaving me rather confused, I did not know Ecco was here. “He comes to visit and we talk about you, mostly, and then he goes away. Ehm, should I order for you? Just for good old times?”

Beguiling Catalyst: Part I. Installment VI. Ephemeral. (with music)

Beguiling Catalyst, Fiction, Literature, Narrative, Stories, Writing

To my dear readers,

I have selected a song to go with this installment. You will find the link later in, but feel free to click on it whenever you like.

We are finally here. At the end of this tunnel I will finally reach the city. Then this afternoon, I will see her once again. It seamed like this day would never come. It’s been so long since the day I first saw her. Her beauty was so rare and yet so luring. Pale skin but at the same time darker than most of us. Green eyes, deep green. Now that I think about it as green as the beads from Tara necklace. Maybe that is why I was so attracted to that jewel, and perhaps it is the reason why I felt as if could see the future, because one day I’ll see her again. Now, that is a silly thought. Such nuisance can not be, but still her eyes were as deep green as the beads.

After all this time, I still remember her as if I just saw her yesterday. All this long years, and I never stopped thinking on her. I was too young and I could not read my feelings rightfully and on time, not until she kissed me. She always knew, and yet she kept it as well. I do not blame her, she knew she was not going to be there forever. Nevertheless, she has always been with me. She gave me strength, wings, courage to go out and shape my own path. I wish I had told her this. and I really wish she would have stayed longer. However, the little time we were together we made some great memories, like that trip we took. It was the first time I ever sat on a train for so long. And then, finally we arrived to the Sand City.

It was a place surrounded by a wall and high towers. The people in the city lived a normal life like in every other place, but outside the walls there was an ocean of sand so vast that even the train had its difficulties to go through. The guards of the city, however, were born of sand. Never do they die, ever faithful to their guard. Not very talkative to most of the people, and definitely not to outsiders, but she insisted. She kept talking to them. Pointless curiosity, I said. But she was determined, she knew that a thousand year old sand guard would have more than one story to tell. She was right, the best way to get to know the city was through their tales. Tales of old, tales unheard, not very important to be recorded in a history book, but enough compelling and some even humorous to make us stay more than expected.

( Music )

On the fortnight of the spring time, there was the light festival. The sand guards, of course, were so amused with us listening to their stories, that they personally showed us the best spot in the city to see it. People gathered on the streets and by forming perfect lines and rows they danced for all night and part of the day, all in perfect synchronization. Each of them had a garland of lighten flowers in their hands which they moved rather jovially. It looked like a swarm of frolicing fireflies. As it appears we were not the only ones to think so, for even the nighttime birds joined the festival and once they did the singing started. What a melody! I have forgotten most of it, but perhaps she can still recall it.

The dance moves and the melody was not very complex, we did our best to learn it, and by doing so we had a wonderful time. It was a perfect moment, I should have kissed her that night. It would have been precise to tell her and open up my heart for her. But I did not, I missed the moment and then the moment was gone. I did not even grabbed her hand. I do not even know what the touch of her hand feels like. I missed it and then she was gone. It does not matters now, it was so long ago. Alas! But it matters to me, time slipped away and one day I did not see her again.

Golly! The tunnel is finally over.The Cloud City, what a place she lives in! Skyscrapers as tall as the eye can see and now the magnificent bridge. High pillars welcoming pillars, just as she described it would be. I’d better go and get all my things together. This long trip left me all sore. I better go to the hotel first and freshen up to see her this afternoon.

Beguiling Catalyst: Part I, Installment V. The Six-Edge Cathedral

Beguiling Catalyst, Fiction, Literature, Narrative, Stories, Writing

This tea is good. She used to like tea, or was it coffee? She probably likes both, but I know she does not care for sugar. The old man is now looking at the pictures I placed at the table, I wonder if he knows those places.

“I’ve been there once, you know?” he says and points at the Six-Edge Cathedral picture.

oh! The Six-Edge Cathedral, marvelous and unexpected place. A long ago, I was headed to the sea, but the wind did not wanted me to and I ended up in a tiny town up in the mountains. I did not understood their language and so it took me a while to get around. Curious little town, all the houses had six edges and everything was around the number six. In the middle of the town there was a cathedral. I do not know its story and I do not know its name. But the work on its wall was remarkable, all the details, faces of people, flowers and animals. The windows, of course, had six edges. They did not had stained glass, as I was expecting, instead, the windows were open, and they were very wide windows. I had never seen something like this, so I stared at them for a very long time. Until I finally saw it.

Their town was so up high that people had to learn how to fly on birds. It was something that made my heart rejoice when I found out. From inside the cathedral, it looked like they were guardian of light that were coming down to us. It was a very inspiring sight. I found one of the feathers and kept it. White, so white that it looks like it glows, even in unlighted places.

I stayed in the town for a few more days. It was too tiny for me to stay. Ecco, a man about my age helped me to go back down, we have been friends ever since. Or at least we were once. I told her about Ecco, but I never told her about the Cathedral nor the feather. She has never mentioned this place before, perhaps she has never been there. I wish for that, so that I can tell her all about it.

This man likes my pictures, and as I thought, he has done so many things in his life. She was right, the restaurant car is a good place to meet interesting people with unique stories.

Beguiling Catalyst. Part I. Installment IV. Gray Eyed Man.

Beguiling Catalyst, Fiction, Literature, Narrative, Stories, Writing

Gee! Why is all this people still doing here? I thought everybody was done with breakfast now. They all look like they are almost done, anyway. I am sure I’m one of the last few. Oh, great! There is a table over there, it is somewhat messy, but it will do. I have to be careful with the pictures now, better not take them out. Wait, no, there is an old man. He looks very friendly though and he does not look as if he is waiting for anybody else, he will probably let me sit with him. I wonder if we speak the same language.

Sitting here, in the restaurant car, reminds me of the one and only trip we took. She did not felt very comfortable on her seat, so we spent the entire trip on a car like this. She said restaurant cars are not only more agreeable but also they are a good place to meet interesting people with unique stories.

Here comes the waiter, I’ll only ask for coffee, or perhaps tea. Yes, tea will do. This man here, he looks like he has seen many things throughout his entire life. I wonder about what his memory could hold, but why he is traveling alone now? That seems rather adventurous and intrepid. I’d like to be like that when I grow old. I do not ever want to let the sparkle go. I wish for my wings to be tireless and to be remembered as the winged-man. Never I wish to resemble my old man. He must have been very nice once, after all my mother married him. Nevertheless, I can only remember his gray eyes. Gray dark eyes that usually resulted in tears from my sister and I. Never did we shared a hug, not even a smile. One day not only his eyes were gray but all of him, his hair, hands and even the words he spoke. The sight of him reminds me of a picture of a century old, cracked, blurry and dusty. I pity him now, everyday he wakes up and waits for the moon to rise again. For years I feared to be overwhelmed by his shadow and become a gray eyed man as well. I feared all of my life pointed to that end. And then I met her.

Meeting her, with her joy, with her smile, with her stories, opened a door for me. A door I did not know it existed. I did not even imaged it could, but it does and she held the key. I never told her what she did for me, what she meant. I never told her so many things. She said there is no such thing as a “gray eyed man”, and that I could not become a person like that, unless I wanted to. I cannot change my father as I cannot change my childhood. No even she can. That is when she taught me how to fly. Flying came in handy sooner than I thought, for there are some places that cannot be reached by foot.

“Here is your tea, sir. Would you like some milk with it?”

“uh? Ehm. Yes, please. And two of sugar.”

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Enticing Emerald

by Adriana

Fiction

A Sunrise without a Sun

The Narrow Road

Sublimed. Installment III. Harmonized Sound. Part I

Sublimed. Installment II. Tarmalines

Sublimed. Installment I. Agata and Jasper

Beguiling Catalyst: Part II. Installment I. White

Beguiling Catalyst: Part I. Installment VI. Ephemeral. (with music)

Beguiling Catalyst: Part I, Installment V. The Six-Edge Cathedral

Beguiling Catalyst. Part I. Installment IV. Gray Eyed Man.