[Spellbound - Siouxie And The Banshees]
Do you like enigmatic characters, engrossing story, magic and the ever atemporal weave?
Play Baldur's Gate 3 [On Steam]
Chapters
- The Magician: A Messenger (September 2, 2025 11:30 AM)
- The High Priestess: A Shadow (September 2, 2025 3:30 PM)
- The Star: A Purity in Truth (September 3, 2025 1:50 AM)
- A Small Fortune Due (September 3, 2025 1:50 PM Work in progress)
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I'd like to point out that it was the incredible
Gary Sinese Foundation that brought the issue of Veteran's rights to my attention. I've always had little respect for those who'd forget the great contribution made by those who've risked life and limb to defend those values that so many of us espouse. Perhaps the true measure of one's principles are by that for which they'd risk their life.
"None can speak more eloquently for peace than those who have fought in war."
Ralph Bunche, Nobel Peace Prize 1950
The Reeve Foundation provides programs for research, uniting Scientists and Specialists from many different fields to find treatments for spinal cord injury translating them into therapies and support programs.
For over 60 years, Heart & Stroke has been dedicated to fighting heart disease and stroke. Our work has saved thousands of lives and improved the lives of millions of others.
The ALS Society Of BCALS (also known as Lou Gehrig's Disease) is a progressive neuromuscular disease in which nerve cells die and leave voluntary muscles paralyzed. The ALS society provides a variety of programs to combat this disease and help those with it to survive.
Muscular Dystrophy Canada Muscular Dystrophy Canada’s mission is to enhance the lives of those affected by neuromuscular disorders by continually working to provide ongoing support and resources while relentlessly searching for a cure through well-funded research.
Parent Project Muscular Dystrophy (PPMD) fights to end Duchenne. We accelerate research, raise our voices to impact policy, demand optimal care for every single family, and strive to ensure access to approved therapies.
In addition to muscular dystrophies, our team treats other types of muscle disorders, including inherited nerve disorders, motor neuron disease and disorders of the neuromuscular junction.
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The Global Foodbanking NetworkEnsuring that people the world over have enough food day to day in order to survive and lead healthy lives. In this challenging day and age services like this are becoming more and more essential. This is a world wide charity.
The Edgar Allan Poe MuseumBecause Barris told me to put it here. If I didn't, he said he'd walk. Geez. Stardom really gets to some people's heads. Maybe I could kill him and bury his
heart beneath the floor boards! Or I could encase him in behind a brick and mortar wall, for shaming my family name of
Amantillado!
In all truth, there's a good chance that thanks to the works of Edgar Allan Poe, Samuel Clemens (Mark Twain), William Shakespeare, Jane Austen, Jonathan Swift, Mary Shelley, Robert Louis Stevenson, Herbert George Wells, Jules Verne, Dr. Seuss, Stephen King, Clive Barker and Pierre Burton (for
The Secret World Of Og and his ground breaking interview of Bruce Lee) that all of us are literate. Actually that goes back much farther to the Phoenecians and their first 22 character system of symbols. Literacy is important. Really it is.
Literally. It allows us to approach our employer at the end of the week (with a big club) and ask:
where my money?! Math important too. It help us count our thirteen fingers and toes.WikipediaThe model for what may become the
Encyclopedia Galactica, a complete reference and record of history, events and knowledge of humanity and its journey beyond. It is the encyclopedia of all that we know, what we surmise that we've known and will learn in the future. Yes, Wikipedia is a charitable organization of great importance. If you enjoy what I am doing here then please take the time to donate to Wikipedia. Surprisingly only 1% of Wikipedia's users donate yet the site serves pages to millions every day.
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Brian Joseph Johns
A Note on the Power of Words, Language, Symbol and Truth
If you truly believe that words have no power, then the next time that you hear of someone being in need of help, and someone who is able to provide it, you should keep your silence, though if you'd truly like to consider the ludicrousness of such an idea, then remember that the advice that told you that words have no power, was itself made up of words.
You chose how to fulfill or deny that power yourself, including the hypocrisy that implied they have no power themselves, for if you denied them of their power by not sharing in order to aid your fellow humanity, you proved their power in that fact, despite how small minded and selfish such an approach to life and humanity would be. One could argue however, that sharing words can be as dangerous as it is helpful. The essence of the power of knowledge.
Symbols without an audience, have no power, as much so as objective collapse fails to occur in the absense of a conscious observer when it comes to the unfolding of causality according to current theories.
A (conscious?) observer is required for causality itself to progress and evolve from one state of parameters and variables of existence to another, and this is something that causality itself shares in common with words. Current cutting edge theories that attempt to explain the existence of time all rely upon these ideas (as this excellent
YouTube video by
Physicist Sabine Hossenfelder explains with her examination of the scientific paper:
Constructor theory of time). Its amazing how concepts connected to object oriented and event driven programming have now found common ground with theoretical physics. We live in a truly remarkable, if not tumultuous time.
If words are the vehicles of concepts and ideas, then consciousness is the medium through which they propagate themselves over their various forms to transform reality, though keeping in mind that at some point, words and symbols did not exist, and our thoughts were composed of something that preceded symbols.
The world spoke to us through its own language. Dimensionality. Shape. Colour. Form. Sound. Smell. Texture.
The question is, was there a hidden language within nature that used these aspects of sensory perception to imply meaning to us, or did we impel meaning upon these natural symbols ourselves?
Which came first, the concept, or the symbol that represents it?
Was it us that birthed society from these roots, or was it already woven into the symbols of nature, from which we derived their meaning?
With the destruction of the Sanctum Seclorum (literally meaning: the sacred secular) and the Librum Universalis Codex, the very foundation from which a group of exceedingly different individuals came together was destroyed. In losing the Sanctum Seclorum and nearly their entire population, they lost the foundation from which they grew and explored their mystical interpretation and understanding of the nature of reality.
Before their demise, they shared the records of their measure of history and its progress in the form of a foundation of truth: the very definition of science itself, hence why science suddenly became so very important to understanding the purpose and meaning of the Sanctum Seclorum, though the Sanctum was by itself, only one part of something much bigger, and losing it had a much bigger impact upon humanity than has thus far been revealed in the story.
The Librum Universalis Codex is not a record of words, but rather the directly recorded existential experiencing of causality, both objective and subjective via something akin to the Akashic record or collective consciousness (if Jungian Psychology is more your kind of thing), for in order to truly understand truth, one must experience it, and it must be the foundation of everything beyond its realization.
Yet, with its loss, where do we begin to search for it again?
Better a question yet, with nobody having realized that it ever existed in the first place, who will be our guides back to it?
Warning: This story is intended for a mature audience, and deals with situations involving tobacco consumption, sexuality and other highly controversial topics. Reader discretion is highly advised!
Tales of the Sanctum: Era of the Spellbound
by Brian Joseph Johns
Episode 4: Twisted Paths and Missing Pieces
The Magician: A Messenger
 |
| (Note: the Magician's five digits and one opposable thumb on her right hand was rendered purposely so) |
She awoke from a deep slumber, the sleep in her eyes now having become crusted along her bottom lashes, just inside the corners neighbouring the bridge of her nose. Nearby, the smell of an ashtray on her night table permeated her senses, drawing a gag reflex from her as she fought spilling the contents of her stomach onto her comforter.
She wiped her eyes with tobacco stained fingertips and stopped herself when she reflexively reached for both a half-pack of B&H, and the lighter beside them. Somewhere in the distance, down the hall just outside of her door, she could hear the sound of a door buzzer echoing up the wooden stairs to her bedroom door.
"What the...?" she said to herself as she tried to get her bearings.
The curtains were drawn and the bedroom was dark, stinking of the full night's worth of cigarettes she'd had before she'd fallen asleep the previous night. The television remote fell from the matress onto the area rug that covered the floor just as she caught sight of an old tube television perched atop of a vertical dresser at the end of her bed.
"I'm going to have my morning cigarette," she spoke, though it wasn't her doing the speaking, her accent suddenly thick and British.
"No I'm not. I don't smoke!" she responded to the other woman puppeteering her body.
She then reached for the pack of cigarettes again, quickly popping one in her mouth and taking up the lighter from the night table.
She then flicked the lighter, before she regained control of her own body once again.
For a moment, she struggled against the smoker, before she was able to overpower her, burning the filter on the cigarette before she'd had a chance to light it again. The horrid stench of burning asbestos filled the air, causing her to cough, launching the still burning cigarette onto the comforter.
A glowing hole blossomed in her bedding as it slowly spread, birthing the orange flower of an open flame.
She quickly began patting the flame with her open hands, then grabbing and folding the comforter over in an attempt to smother the fire.
She caught sight of a planter filled nearly to the brim with water, as it sat on a hutch that ran beside the length of the bed. She instinctively grabbed the planter and dumped it onto the comforter, soaking it through to the matress beneath, and the package of cigarettes that had fallen onto the bed.
"Damn you! I had just enough to last me until my next support cheque!" the smoker cursed her with her own lips.
"You're not smoking those damned things with my body!" she quickly replied.
"Your body...? Now there's the boot steering the lorrie if I've ever heard!" the smoker scolded her, once again with thick British slang.
The buzzer rang anxiously, interrupting their conflict.
"What's that...?" she asked the smoker.
"That's my next pack of cigarettes! That's my morning appointment!" the smoker replied, running their shared body to the bathroom where she flicked a switch on the wall before getting a glimpse of herself in the mirror.
She was in her late thirties, perhaps early forties. Her face surrounded by a long dry bed of reddish blonde hair, frayed and broken tips and split ends, stinking of cigarette soot as much so as stained with it.
Dark swollen bags hung beneath her faded blue eyes, her nose pores clogged with dark pockets of dirt and oil. Just above her lips, a dark faded line of facial hair was clearly visible, as the previous occupant had neither the money nor inclination to attend to such frivolous pursuits of appearance. That, and such pursuits would have interfered with the financial burden of her tobacco habit.
The non-smoker broke down crying as she looked in the mirror at her own reflection. Where there had once been a pretty blonde haired young lady in her mid to late twenties, there was now a forty-something year old hag, who'd clearly given up on her own visage in favour of a disgusting habit.
"I don't know who ye are, but this one's mine. Its my body, and yer not welcome in it!" the non-smoker suddenly realized that the smoker was Cockney British.
The non-smoker suddenly experienced flashes of a distant memory.
She had been inside of a large castle of some kind. Stone walls and massive columns stood before an archway whose entryway was a doorway into infinity. She'd been running for the door, even having dived into it face first before she impacted something solid, at which point the darkness consumed her along with her waking nightmare.
"I'm Gwendolyn!" she spoke with the smoker's own lips in a casual Canadian accent.
"No I'm not! I'm Gillie, just like my own da called me!" the smoker responded in defiance.
Gillie didn't wait for Gwendolyn to reply. Instead, she began running the water, grabbing up a splash of it with her cupped hands, dousing her dirty and oily face in it.
"Now if you'll pardon me, that person down stairs at my front door is my cigarette money!" Gillie turned off the light in the bathroom and stepped cautiously down the old hardwood stairs of her war time home on the outskirts of London and towards the front hall.
The door buzzer rang again, irritatingly so just as Gillie unlatched the big lock and opened the old door.
At that moment, Gwendolyn, who was determined not to let Gillie have any cigarettes, took over the driver's chair in the smoker's own body.
"How are you love?" asked the woman at the door, whose greying hair held a fancy lace hat, a conservatively dressed lady standing on the porch before her.
Gwendolyn noticed a bible in the woman's hands.
"Oh no. Here we go...!" Gwendolyn said aloud and without any sign of restraint.
"How are you this morning sweetie?" asked the woman, a sheet of lace just barely perched over her eyes.
"I was sleeping. What can I do for you?" asked Gwendolyn, making no effort to soften her words.
"Sinning I'd be willing to bet," the woman quickly responded, clearly offended by Gwendolyn's tone and the unfamiliarity of her Canadian accent.
At that moment, Gwendolyn recalled the drawer of her own night table, where a vibrator sat innocuously, at her beck and call for those evenings where the stress and pressure life had been too much. Innocent enough, and yet a smoking gun to those armed with such a religious text and the one-upmanship of sin, as was such a weapon in the hands of the woman at the door.
The lady at Gillie's front door immediately caught Gwendolyn's expression, knowing she'd hit the mark with her words, despite her having found Gillie's behaviour very odd.
It was vastly known to the small Christian community in their Shepperton suburb that Gillie was a fortune teller, which of course was considered a dire sin to all those of the nearby Church, though a close second when it came to the sin of lust, whose signs the woman had caught on Gwendolyn's face once already on this morning.
Gwendolyn suddenly realized that Gillie had lost this round, for their guest was not her stated appointment, but someone whose priorities were much, much different, though not as different as Gwendolyn had needed to claim an uncontested victory.
While Gwendolyn considered her options, Gillie took the liberty of the driver's seat of her own body.
"You wouldn't happen to have a cigarette would you, love?" Gillie asked the Church lady.
"I think I can help you... If you'd be willing to read this pamphlet in support of our upcoming dinner at the mission...?" asked the lady as she fished through her purse, pulling forth a gold case, and a pamphlet, both of which she handed to Gillie.
Gillie's hands became frantic as she opened the gold case, and as she clutched a cigarette in hand, Gwendolyn fought with her, breaking it in three while Gillie attempted to plant it upon her lips.
"You witch!" Gillie cursed at Gwendolyn, though the Church lady took her remark personally.
"I beg your pardon...!???" the Church lady responded, quickly grabbing her gold case of cigarettes back from Gillie.
A tear dripped down Gillie's cheek as Gwendolyn grabbed the broken cigarette from her lips and crushed it to the point of uselessness.
"I... I'm... please forgive me..." Gillie begged the Church lady, and in her moment of weakness, Gwendolyn once again took the driver's seat.
"And don't you ever come back...!" Gwendolyn asserted to the Church lady, a fiece and defensive look in her eyes.
As their eyes locked, Gwendolyn suddenly saw the Church lady a few years younger, kissing her husband as he left to work for the day. He stepped out the door and over to his parked car, getting in and driving off to the assembly plant where he worked as a CNC Technician.
No sooner was he was gone, than did another man appear at their front door. She opened the door for him after his having knocked several times with a coded tap, and he stepped inside, closing the door behind himself.
He then advanced upon her, thrusting himself at the Church lady, who did little if anything to fend him off, their lips already locked in a lustful kiss as the man backed her up the stairs to the bedroom. When they arrived in the bedroom, she crept down his body with her lips, removing his clothing as she did before she was upon him with her mouth.
The Church lady stared back at Gwendolyn, suddenly realizing what had been revealed to her for in her Church, such a foray was a cardinal sin, while to Gwendolyn, it was despite the horrible betrayal, another natural and intimate aspect of life. Despite such betrayal, life often did go on.
For every guilty party who'd been crucified in the open for as much, there were hundreds more amongst the crucifiers who were ten times the more guilty for the same thing. The real crime however was the show put on by those doing the crucifying, as if to make it known to as many as possible and to hold no boundaries in the preservation of anything as being sacred whatsoever.
Not sex. Not love. Not life. Not their partner.
Any secrets that held power over others were simply an open game to such a Church and its parishioners. Secrets were simply a form of power over others and the means to sandwich people between their public and private lives.
"That's for remarking about the contents of my night table drawer you petty hussie! If your husband can't trust you, why should anyone else? Who's worse, you for betraying your living husband, or me for protecting the contents of my night table?" Gwendolyn slammed the door in her face, now knowing what a hypocrite she truly was despite Gwendolyn never having pursued religion as a way of life.
To Gwendolyn, what she held to be true with regard to the nature of existence, it was sacred enough that she dared not discuss it with anyone, while to Gillie, it was simply a means of gaining the protection of others who mostly believed nothing themselves, for they were essentially doing the same thing.
Claiming belief in order to gain the protection of the many who lived the same lie, for none of them had truly considered the question in the first place.
After they'd taken a moment to calm themselves just inside of the front hall, two of them, both Gwendolyn and Gillie then broke down crying.
Gwendolyn over her lost youth and the fact that she now inhabited the body of a woman in her forties without having enjoyed the experience of growing into that age herself, while Gillie simply cried over her lost cigarette.
The High Priestess: A Shadow
Susan sat to the right of Mr. Crawson at the boardroom table, while across from her sat Mr. Derringer, his piercing eyes focused on Mr. Crawson as he spoke.
"The issue that we're dealing with has to do more with voter confidence than anything else. I'd very much like our party campaign to focus on this fact, rather than in taking on the brewing controversy..." Mr. Crawson read from his notes, which lay on the table in front of him as he leaned back in his chair reading from them.
"That has the potential to be regarded as cowardice on your part, John. The voters are going to want answers when and if this issue comes to a head, and seeing as BBC One is planning on going ahead with the broadcast, I'd recommend that rather than you waiting for it to come to you, that you confront it. Directly," Mr. Derringer spoke confidently and firmly, looking to his notes only once.
"I'd say that I have to agree. You should contend with this issue without waivering, especially if any names are revealed, and my contact at the BBC has assured me that there will be some names and evidence brought forward during that broadcast," Susan cocked her head sideways, accenting her point without the appearances of being threatening to him.
"Until we know whether they're our people, or appointees of the previous administration I'd prefer it if we refrained from raising any alarms by the appearances of head-hunting our own people. We need solidarity, not divisive measures that make it look like we're folding to pressure and stumbling around in the dark. Leadership first. If it comes out that we're looking at our own in this mess, we'll deal with it then and on our terms," Mr. Crawson asserted himself to his consultants, looking over the top of his glasses, first to Mr. Derringer and then to Susan.
"Are we agreed?" asked Mr. Crawson of them.
"I like it. Its solid ground," Susan nodded.
"I couldn't agree more, however we still haven't dealt with the issue of the Harbour Mission audit yet. There are some very serious implications with regard to the ledger trail, not to mention the possibility of charges, if there's a link to your office," Mr. Derringer circled one of his notes, writing a sideline beside it.
"We're playing with open books. What charges could put us at risk?" asked Mr. Crawson.
"Laundering, combined with the possible risk imposed by the talk of sex trafficking being involved stands to pose a serious problem, if there's a connection between our books and theirs," Susan too underlined one of her points in her notes.
"I've got to be running. I've got a three o'clock with the school board," Mr. Derringer explained to Mr. Crawson.
"Thank-you Richard. Give Mrs. Gardener my best and be sure to tell her that she a did a wonderful job on that summer educational program," Mr. Crawson stood and shook hands with Mr. Derringer, who returned his sentiment and a bid Susan farewell.
"And then there were two. So tell me Susan, as my director of security intelligence, what safeguards do you have in place should there be any connections to our ledger?" asked Mr. Crawson of her.
"I've taken the liberty of scouring..." Susan looked up from her notes, suddenly gagging as if she could no longer breath.
She tapped her breast plate with her hand, as if dealing with a case of heart burn, when she began coughing.
"I just need a moment..." she stood, and stepped quickly into the hall and over to the women's washrooms.
There within she quickly took a drink from the fountain, and then coughed some more, looking up and towards the mirror.
She gasped once again when she caught sight of something in her reflection. A shadowy figure behind her, in the shape of a woman.
Susan turned around to face the mystery, but found only what had originally been behind her. The paper towel dispensers, and the electric hand dryers.
From within one of the electric dryers, she heard a strange sound, like the movement of thousands of tiny little legs. Scratching the interior of the device as they stepped.
She hit the dryer's button, but nothing happened. There was no stream of warm air, or the sound of a fan. Just the silence.
"Your lips. They're very luscious. Full, though your eyes are a bit small. Like a gerbil or a rodent. I'd have preferred a predatory kind of woman. A woman who sees a man, and immediately sees him for all of the frailty of his ego and weaknesses, but I guess we'll have to make due. You'll do nicely in time..." Susan heard the voice of another woman, as if she was remembering a conversation from some other time in her past.
"Hello? Is there someone there in the stalls?" asked Susan aloud, though nobody answered her.
"I'm in hand dryer..." the woman's voice taunted her.
Susan looked at the hand dryer skeptically.
"No. Really. I am. Try pressing the button again..." the woman's voice emerged from the hand dryer.
Susan slowly reached out for the button, and then pressed it.
A shower of shadowy insects emerged in a stream from the hand dryer's nozzle, quickly covering the floor, as they forced Susan over into a corner, remaining just shy of her high heeled feet.
She tried to scream, but nothing, only the sound of passing air came out of her. Her body was paralyzed in terror like having a nightmare late at night in bed.
The shadow insects then began to advance on her feet, climbing first onto her shoes, and then her feet and legs, until the covered her up to her neck.
"Can you feel this...? Their legs all over you? Their mandibles ready to devour your flesh and strip you clean from existence? Meat, bone and all? You and I will be working together from now on, and if you do not heed my wishes, then your fate will be very much like this, except the restraint they're showing now, will be removed, and shortly thereafter, so will you. Do you understand?" asked the woman's voice, which now echoed from the nozzle of the hand dryer.
Susan nodded affirmatively, and within an instant, the shadow insects were gone and she stood before the mirror, looking at herself, though this time, she could feel someone else within her, looking out through her eyes as much so as was she.
"You can call me Miana. Mianamor Selembrosi," Miana introduced herself to her new host.
"Miana...? I'm Susan. Susan Hardy," Susan replied.
"How wonderful it is to meet you Susan. You're British, right?" asked Miana.
Susan nodded affirmatively to the mirror.
"When in Rome... do as the Romans, Susan..." Miana responded, smiling ever so slightly with Susan's face.
The Star: A Purity in Truth
Glynis sat atop a large stone, a large pad of artist's paper spread before her. A box of pastels and charcoal lay open to her left, while her right hand lay limp on the folded knee of her right leg, not moving nor stressed in any way that would indicate her having been using it for balance.
It was simply in her way, and there it lay as a convenience to her current pursuit, while her back and abdominal muscles did all of the heavy lifting to keep her in place as she sat before the Thames, in the quiet little township of Walton, just a half of a King's mile north of Mila's large home.
Her long golden blonde hair flowed freely in the breeze as she struggled to gain hold of a sea green pastel. Her fingers clamped around the small shape, her left hand already shaking as she struggled to find the balancing point where she could hold it without effort, rather it being kept in place by the immobility of her thumb versus her index finger, for she'd mostly lost the motor control of either digit when she was ten years old.
In all truth, her ability to wield the pastel had arisen as a matter of the intense interest she'd placed in her own self care, an effort she'd spent a year learning to wield first a fork, and then once she was able, a spoon so she wouldn't be a trouble to feed herself.
It was the way that Glynis had chosen to live her life, even from the moment her family had first learned of her condition.
With the pastel now balanced between her thumb and index finger, she exerted force upon her shoulder which slowly crept down her left bicep, against her stabilizer and tricep until her forearm began to move, the pastel etching its vibrant colour on the page by the weight of her arm and her struggle to will tension upon her muscles.
Somehow, all of these factors came together to produce very natural strokes in her work, and this pastel drawing was certainly no exception.
Much like in Mila's home, Glynis' art filled the walls, leaving no bare space, for her parents were so very proud of their daughter. She'd been an inspiration to every similar child and young adult who'd struggled as had Glynis with Muscular Dystrophy since the age of six, when she was first diagnosed with the genetic disorder.
On this particular occasion, her parents had sent her with a caregiver for her daily stroll along the Thames, not just a ten minute walk from their Shepperton home, though it was a forty-five minute walk for Glynis.
Sally, who'd been with Glynis as her caregiver since she was thirteen, stood just to the left of Glynis shoulder, watching her put the finishing touches and final shading of her most recent drawing.
"You've really improved on your shading. The shadows look quite real. Especially those cast by the trees on the other shore... Its quite remarkable really," Sally complimented Glynis on her skill, though she knew better than to let it get to her head.
"I just shifted my weight. Funny you mention it, because I really had no choice..." Glynis laughed over it, as did Sally, though slightly uneasily.
"That's another one. I think I'm going to gift this one to Mr. Kurrens over at the Walton Grocer today, which reminds me: I left my kit in the cart. Could you grab the laminate for me so we can cover this properly for him?" asked Glynis of Sally.
"I could just put that on by the foot path. Makes sense really, rather than spraying the laminate here in the wild...?" Sally asked Glynis cheerfully.
Glynis held her hand above the pastel box and tipped her wrist slightly clockwise, waiting for the pastel to slip out of her precarious grip. It slowly teetered and then without further pause, fell into the box. Glynis then folded over the lid and pressed her forearm down upon it firmly, sealing the box.
She then used her slightly closed hand to roll up the drawing, holding it in place as she struggled to get a grip on it.
"I've got that. I'll be right back for you. Why don't you practice getting up with your cane?" Sally offered, grabbing up the drawing and then suggesting that Glynis take the opportunity to practice her leg balance some more.
Glynis slid her cane down the stone to the grass, holding it upright as she slowly unfolded her legs and slid them down in place beside the cane.
She then leaned on the cane, Sally already long gone with the drawing as Glynis stepped forward attempting to get onto her own feet.
She miscalculated her own momentum, quickly over-correcting herself as she swayed from side to side trying not to fall.
Glynis tripped with the cane, spinning herself right around, her momentum now dangerous as she fell head first towards the large stone.
"Don't worry! I've got you!" Glynis heard an unfamiliar voice emerge from nowhere.
As Glynis head almost impacted with the surface of the stone, her body suddenly halted her fall, her muscles responding fully as if she were cured, though not under her own direction.
"Are you alright?" the same woman's voice asked her, an intense compassion apparent.
"Yes... I... How did you...?" Glynis nodded affirmatively without any effort as she replied to the woman who yet remained mysteriously hidden.
"I don't know... I'm just here. With you..." the woman responded to her.
"Where?" asked Glynis, now looking about frantically in attempt to find her mysterious saviour.
"Have you ever been in a car?" asked the woman, though there was still no sign of her.
"Yes. Many times. I love going to the country on long drives. Especially with my Aunt, up towards Cardiff," Glynis responded.
"Well, think of your body like being a car, and I'm in the passenger seat, beside you..." the woman responded to her.
"Who are you speaking with?" Sally asked Glynis, just having returned.
"Didn't you hear another woman just a moment ago?" asked Glynis, now avoiding looking around to avoid alarming Sally.
Glynis instead balanced carefully and yet effortlessly on her cane, though to Sally, everything appeared to be normally abnormal for Glynis.
"Your friend probably can't hear me," the woman said to Glynis.
"Just now. Did you hear her?" asked Glynis of Sally.
"No. Are you hearing things?" asked Sally, a look of concern on her face as she looked to Glynis.
"I guess not. I think that maybe I'm a bit lonely since Aunt Ethel left. I was really used to having a friend around all the time..." Glynis pretended to lose her balance momentarily, testing herself to see if her imaginary friend was still with her.
Miraculously, she regained her balance much to the shock of Sally.
"Did you do that...?" asked Sally of Glynis.
"Yes. As I said, I've been practicing a lot you know..." Glynis fibbed innocently, feeling a sudden sense of excitement and glee that her condition had improved so drastically.
"Lets get over to Mr. Kurrens' and give him his gift, before it gets too late. Your parents are going running a little bit behind tonight and so we're going to be eating before they get home," Sally grabbed Glynis' left hand and began leading her back to the cart and the foot path.
"I could help you cook tonight. I noticed that my hand was a lot stronger today. Maybe I could mix the salad?" asked Glynis suggested, very eager to try out her renewed mobility and sense of motor control.
"Alright. We can do that, but no knives or cutting, and just the salad," Sally put some brakes on her enthusiasm before they made their way to Mr. Kurrens' and then home.
...
Glynis lay in bed, a large eighty-inch screen on the other end of her room from her bed played the BBC eleven o'clock edition, which was already ten minutes in.
"Are you still with me?" asked Glynis of her mysterious friend.
"I was gone. Sorry, I hope that I didn't scare you or anything?" asked the woman in the passenger seat.
"You can come and go too?" asked Glynis of her.
"I don't really know. This is all kind of new to me, and to tell you the truth, I don't even remember how I got here or where I came from," the woman responded.
"But you can go else where, right?" asked Glynis.
"Yes, but not to other people. Only to places that are familiar to me..." the woman responded.
"You mean places you've been before?" asked Glynis.
"I don't know. Its more like deja vu? Like I remember it without actually remembering it," the woman explained to Glynis.
"What about a name? Do you have one?" asked Glynis of the woman.
"Yes. I do as a matter of fact. I'm Gallea..." the woman said to Glynis with an air of familiarity.
"That's a nice name. Different. I'm Glynis, in case you didn't already know," Glynis smiled.
There was another long moment of silence, before Glynis once again became anxious that Gallea had abandoned her.
"Are you still there?" Glynis asked.
"Yes. I was just looking around. I've been to this place... Shepperton...?" Gallea confirmed with Glynis.
"One and the same..." Glynis replied.
"Yes, well I've been here before. I know a couple of the streets. Two of the roundabouts as well. Actually, before I found you, I was just hanging around at the roundabout south of London Heathrow. It was like I was sitting on a wall, but I didn't have a body," Gallea explained to Glynis.
"You know what this reminds me of?" asked Glynis excitedly of Gallea.
"No. What?" Gallea responded with as much enthusiasm.
"When I was a kid, my cousins used to come over for pajama parties, and we'd setup a a tent right inside of my bedroom, right over there... and the three of us. Denise, Althea and I, would tell ghost stories all night..." Glynis said to Gallea, suddenly scared that she might have offended her new friend.
"I wasn't saying that you're a ghost or anything... I meant that I had friends who liked to pretend to be scared. It was very fun! It just reminded me..." Glynis reminisced about her childhood.
"Your condition? When did it start affecting you?" asked Gallea of Glynis.
"When I was six. That's when I started having problems with my right hand, though the Doctors explained that it actually started in my forearm..." Glynis told Gallea.
"You mean Muscular Dystrophy?" confirmed Gallea of Glynis.
"Yep. Becker Muscular Dystrophy. There's a few different kinds," Glynis explained to Gallea.
There was more silence, before Glynis continued speaking.
"You know what the hardest part was though?" asked Glynis of Gallea.
"No. What?" asked Gallea.
"My parents, well, they blamed themselves, because its genetic you know... I have a very rare condition of it. My muscles get very tired sometimes. Other times, they just don't work at all and once when I was thirteen years old, I had cardiac arrest..." Glynis rubbed her chest where her heart was.
"You had a heart attack?" confirmed Gallea, her voice now full of concern for Glynis.
"Almost. I think they called it cardiomyopathy. I had to spend six months taking steroids and exercising my heart muscles with the help of a special machine. After that, I never really got chest pains anymore. Just muscle cramps in my legs and arms, and most of the time my right hand doesn't work at all... When you caught me, that was the first time my legs and arms worked together. How did you do that?" asked Glynis of Gallea.
"I don't know. I think I used to have prosthetic limbs though, because I don't remember having any feeling in my arms or legs. Its was very odd. Like I could tell if something was too hot or too cold to touch, but only for other people, like it wouldn't hurt me..." Gallea explained to Glynis, who carefully tried to roll over onto her side.
"Can you help me...? I want to move my doll so that I'm lying down facing her, and I'll pretend that its you. I know I'm a bit old for dolls, but it will feel a lot better, like the pajama parties I used to have," Glynis told Gallea.
"Alright. Lets get you onto your side, and then... there. Is that good with your doll?" asked Gallea after having used Glynis' arms to place the doll on her side in front of Glynis.
"That's perfect!" Glynis smiled.
"That's actually really funny, because I think I used to have really long hair. Blonde hair. So blonde in fact, it was practically white..." Gallea explained to Glynis, completely unsure of how she could remember such details.
"Do you remember your birthday?" asked Glynis of Gallea.
"Yes... I do... Wait. I have two birthdays... One when I woke up, and one when I had a whole body," Gallea recalled her first time awakening with her own mind.
"When did you wake up?" asked Glynis.
"February 29, though I don't know which year it was..." Gallea recalled.
"So you're a Pisces! I'm a water sign too!" Glynis smiled at her doll.
"You're a Scorpio?" Gallea confirmed with Glynis.
"No. I'm a Cancer. I'm a natural born caregiver, or so Sally says I'd have been if not for my condition..." Glynis smiled.
"Now back to you. When did you get your prosthetics?" asked Glynis.
"December 20. I think it was a few years after I woke up..." Gallea recalled suddenly having sensory organs and mobility, though she could not recall anything about her own spatial or temporal awareness itself.
It was as if she had no concept of her former height, weight or age.
"So you were a Saggitarius, like an athlete. You're very deep, and feel very deeply about other people, and you're very athletic too. Are you competive?" asked Glynis of Gallea.
"No. More encouraging. I mean, if you can run faster than everyone else, wouldn't that mean you'd have fewer friends to run with? I think I liked being around people, but not trying to be better than them," Gallea thought about it, trying to recall her regard for others.
"So you're emotionally a Pisces, but you're physically a Saggitarius, and no sign of an ego. Anywhere..." Glynis nodded, feeling as if at twenty years old, she'd finally made her first real friend.
"Is that a bad thing do you think?" asked Gallea of Glynis.
"No! Are you kidding?" Glynis suddenly found herself in envy of Gallea's naivety, for even she'd struggled with frustration in her life when comparing herself to others.
Gallea sensed Glynis' sudden discomfort in a way she could not comprehend. It was as if she'd become intuitively aware of Glynis' sudden sensitivity to the issue.
Gallea considered her words very carefully before responding.
"I don't know. I think that having a bit of confidence is a good thing. Maybe a bit of self assuredness too. You know, to make up for when you're not sure if you can achieve what you set out to do? I mean, if you beat yourself before you even try, then you'll never know whether you could achieve it or not. A little bit of ego can be helpful at times. I guess that's something that I have to work on to improve myself you know..." Gallea said thoughtfully.
"And I thought you were perfect. What a complete let down...!" Glynis said to Gallea, both of them breaking out laughing for a minute before they settled down to silence.
"I think its bed time for both of us. Besides, you need to take care of your health and body, so I can look good for both of us," Gallea joked with Glynis.
"That's ten points for your ego. Not bad on your first try..." Glynis laughed as she responded.
"Good night Gallea," Glynis said to her new friend.
" Good night Glynis. I'll see you tomorrow. Have a good sleep," Gallea said to Glynis, who by that time was already drifting off.
A Small Fortune Due
Gillie hadn't uttered a single word for an entire hour since they'd slammed the door on the lady from the nearby Lutheran Church and homeless mission, though the justification for her being sore over the issue had little to do with her beliefs, and more so with her own withdrawal from nicotine, for she'd not had a cigarette for nearly thirteen hours. The first time she'd gone for such a length in time without tobacco over her thirty-one years as a cigarette smoker.
Gwendolyn on the other hand, was still very satisfied with having closed the door in the lady's face, for her experiences with the self righteous whose motivations were derived from religion, had never been encouraging events in her life. Instead, she regarded such religions that poked their noses into one's bedroom and personal affairs as being on the very brink of tyranny.
Most were nothing more than criminal enterprises, preying upon those whose personal secrets had become compromised to the worst people of all to shoulder such a responsibility, for neighbours and friends, let alone their socially liberated and enlightened New Age enemies. Gwendolyn of course ascribed herself a member of the New Age of idealism, though not specifically to any singular belief.
She believed in the freedom of the human mind to explore thought without scrutiny, and the liberty of consciousness, her body being a vessel through which she'd formerly experienced causality, before ultimately having lost it somewhere along the way.
Where exactly, she could not recall. She could only remember that she had in fact been born in a very natural setting, within a hospital, from where she was drawn forth from her mother's womb by a group of professionals well practiced in the art of child birth, though Gwendolyn would certainly have contested that they had the easy part, despite being grateful for their participation during the process.
As she considered the thought, she suddenly wondered how the Church lady would have reacted to such a scene of a tiny baby being extracted from the womb of a naked woman, only to witness the severing of the umbilical, unceremoniously.
A crude yet humbling rite of passage that Gwendolyn imagined would have found the Church lady obsessed with the presence of nudity and sin, more so than the miracle of a new born life and the freedom of her newly wrought body.
While Gwendolyn had found relief to her eyes which had since her arrival in Gillie's body, stung furiously from the agitation of a smoker's household. It was akin to living in a chimney, and dining from dirty ash trays. An impossibly disgusting experience for a non-smoker such as her to explain to one such as Gillie.
However, Gwendolyn was grateful that since the Church lady had gone, that the stench in Gillie's house had subsided monumentally, despite the curtains having been drawn and the windows all being closed.
It was as if in order to preserve her dying way of life, Gillie had enclosed herself in a fortress away from a changing society. Her only neighbours and friends living a similar lie, each protecting what was necessary for their friends to continue the horror of the ruse that was slowly killing them.
As society grew stronger and more bold to do away with such a living style, more and more of the familiar people in Gillie's life fell, like dominoes tumbling over into one another until there were none left standing. The passing of the putrid old ways afforded by tobacco money, none of which paid for the immense cost upon the health care system arising from the disease of Lung Cancer or Heart Disease.
Gillie had seen this brave new world many times from her kitchen window. The joggers running happily by, on their way down the sidewalk or on the side of the road. The many bicyclists who commuted to work while improving their bodily health.
This new youth, they were ambitious, healthy and strong. And yet when they passed her window, Gillie felt as if they were the same life she'd known since her childhood.
The same life passing her by.
She'd struggled in school, though she was anything but unintelligent. She was intuitive, but living a constant lie and one held in place by her cigarettes, and her unwillingness to change.
She wasn't hungry despite having not yet eaten, though she dined on her fingernails readily, once again on the verge of tears from her withdrawal symptoms.
Gwendolyn, despite having no physical or psychological dependency or habit of a similar nature, nonetheless felt the symptoms of Gillie's withdrawal, for they both occupied the same body, and with that shared the same nervous system.
Gwendolyn despite not being a source for Gillie's ills, would be forced to live with the symptoms, as if life had played some kind of cruel trick on her out of spite for her, and perhaps a sense of irony.
"You said you have an appointment today? Home visits from a Doctor maybe?" asked Gwendolyn, instead trying compassion rather than confrontation.
"F#ck off! Get the f#ck out of my body and leave me alone!" Gillie cursed Gwendolyn, and they could both feel their shared heart beating with fury.
Gwendolyn recalled a time in her life (despite still not knowing exactly who she was), where after having graduated from College with a certificate in Hospitality Management, she'd moved into low income housing as she got herself on her feet.
She recalled having worked ten and twelve hour days, every day, and even twice on Sunday, just to get her life going, while her neighbours threw their lives away, doing little if anything but nothing.
Worse yet, after her day at work, they'd taunt her through the walls, many of them having been loyal Church goers, which perhaps had been the point at which Gwendolyn had acquired a distaste for the self-righteous attitude of such religions.
When she'd been at work one day, one of her neighbours who'd had a copy of her key, had managed to slip into her place. At that time, he'd gone through all of her belongings. Her closets and chest of drawers, examining everything of a private and personal nature in her life, including her vibrator.
When she'd arrived home that night, their taunting and tormenting of her had become unbearable and worse still, they were all of them armed with her most intimate secrets, these self-righteous god fearing church lovers.
Using her secrets, they proceeded to rape her. Psychologically so. As if through the walls, they could touch her body, armed only with the complete knowledge of her most intimate secrets. She recalled the feeling of disgust and contempt that she had for them, even yelling at them through the walls and using expletives such as the one Gillie had just used on her.
However, to such neighbours who felt that god was on their side, they saw themselves as doing no wrong, for even a crime such as rape could be rationalized by altering the context of expression to its opposite, so that no meant yes, and yes meant no. Absent of conscience, they continued to violate her through the walls for another six months, before she fled.
To where, she could not recall. She only knew that it was somewhere much better.
In that moment, Gwendolyn sympathized with Gillie, for it wasn't her fault that she'd ended up in Gillie's body. Maybe there really were gods. A sick bunch abusive of their power over mortals, who played cruel tricks upon them, like her neighbours had back then. Since that time, Gwendolyn had taken with her a distaste for the church and those so pressed that they felt themselves as the punishers of sin.
All of them parishioners in the church of rape, only years later to be replaced by the parishioners in the church of sextortion.
Gwendolyn despite her disgust for cigarette smoking, suddenly felt an intense empathy for Gillie, whose body she'd unknowingly violated by her presence, though it was not by her own will of having done so.
It was a cruel joke played by a misunderstood universe.
"Look. I don't know how I ended up here. I only know that who I was... what I was... is gone, and this is all I have left..." Gwendolyn explained to Gillie, who began to sob.
"You're like those people who invade their neighbours' bodies... You probably live around here, in one of the rich homes, because you speak like one of those new age snobs! Just leave me alone, and let me have my cigarettes!" Gillie broke down crying, having run out of fingernails left to eat.
Her words however, triggered Gwendolyn.
"New age snobs? How dare you, when I was raped through the walls for a year by sinner punishing self-righteous crazed church goers like you! Just like the one at your door that you tried to protect! You want to speak about body invasions do you? You're part of the worst predatory group of perpetrators of that crime that exist! And you get away with it entirely because you have no conscience whatsoever. That damned book of yours is your conscience... and its got more rape, murder, incest, decapitations, infantacide, matricide, patricide and genocide than any other book in the entirety of the history of humanity! You have no damned clue, do you?!!! If I could leave your body, even if it meant I'd cease to exist, I'd do it in a heart beat just to get away from someone as disgusting as you!!!" Gwendolyn let it all out at Gillie.
"That's pretty good hate..." Gille responded, having no other defense against Gwendolyn's words other than submission.
"Do you know what your problem is? You can't tell truth from hate. Let me give you a clue! What I just said is truth. If you can't tell the difference, then hate me for being truthful, that is, if you somehow need to fit it into the context of opposites so it will fit with your life and attitude. You're more of a prisoner to life than you'll ever know. To hell with you. Why should I spend my time and energy trying to free you?!!!" Gwendolyn responded.
The door buzzer once again sounded, causing Gillie to jump.
She quickly got up from the sofa, and donned her slippers excitedly, almost running for the front door.
"Who the hell is that? The Church lady again?!!!" Gwendolyn had stepped way over the line, though in all truth, it was far from being a case of fault.
"No. Its not the Church lady. Its my client..." Gillie responded, adjusting her hair and and pushing her thick framed glasses up her nose.
"Your client...? Are you a prostitute?" Gwendolyn suddenly found herself in shock of the idea that the woman whose body she'd been forced to inhabit might be involved in the sex trade.
"What?!!! No! Don't be silly! I'm a fortune teller!" Gillie responded.
"A what?" clarified Gwendolyn.
"A tarot reader! Now shut-up and stay out of my way. If you say anything about my smoking again, I'll chain smoke for the entirety of one week. That's five packs a day..." Gillie responded to Gwendolyn.
"...you're like Nathalie...?" Gwendolyn responded, as if Gillie's words had triggered a memory.
"Who the heck is Nathalie?" asked Gillie of Gwendolyn, her hand already on the door knob, ready to open the door.
"I don't know. I only know that I used to know someone... a tarot card reader whose name was Nathalie..." Gwendolyn replied as she opened the front door.
"Mrs. Ardbloem?" Gillie greeted Nelony's mother.
"I hope I'm not late...?" asked Mrs. Ardbloem.
"No! Not at all! Could you pay me in advance?" asked Gillie, holding out her hand.
"Uhhhh... sure? Will forty pounds cover it?" asked Mrs. Ardbloem, reaching into her purse and drawing forth the cash from within.
"You're a darling! Now go take a seat on the back porch and I'll be back in a minute... Help yourself to the tea..." Gillie practically ran out of the front door, and down the street to the corner store.
This time, it was Gwendolyn who nearly broke down crying as Gillie lit a cigarette after exiting the store.
From there, she walked back as the nicotine calmed her nerves and the symptoms of withdrawal receded.
Inside of her, Gwendolyn fought against sudden nausea, though her reflex in this way had no effect upon Gillie, for Gillie was fully in charge. The authority of the satiation of her addiction now a form of power for her.
It was at that moment that Gwendolyn realized what she must do, if she was to win this war to save Gillie's body and health.
"Did you know that it takes eleven years for your body to clean out and reverse the accumulated damage from cigarette smoking?" Gwendolyn spoke up from inside of Gillie.
"Last warning. If you do this, I wasn't kidding... Five packs a day..." Gillie threatened Gwendolyn once again.
"...and during that eleven years, there's accumulated damage that your body can never fix, such as damage to your arteries or scar tissue on your lungs..." Gwendolyn ignored her, unable to cough for Gillie was now in charge of her own body.
Gillie suddenly stopped and turned around, making her way back to the corner store. She then handed the cashier half of her money.
"I'll take five cartons of B&H please," Gillie waited patiently as the cashier grabbed her five cartons of cigarettes.
"Planning ahead are you?" asked the cashier.
"Yes. Just a little," Gillie responded, her cigarette still balanced on her lip.
The cashier thought about saying something to Gillie, for he didn't allow smoking in his shop as it was both against his rules, and against the law. In the end however, he gave her a bag for her cigarettes and bid her farewell.
She left the store and quickly made her way down the street, avoiding several joggers (or rather they avoided her), and back to her home.
By the time Gillie had made it to the back porch with her favourite tarot deck, Mrs. Ardbloem had already prepared a full pot of tea, and had set their tea glasses across the table from each other.
"Such a nice garden you have here. I didn't know that you were a gardener?" Mrs. Ardbloem remarked to Gillie, he poured their tea before taking her seat across from Mrs. Ardbloem.
"I'm not. That's the neighbour's daughter's work really. I throw her a few pounds a month, and she keeps my property value for me. Certainly beats having the neighbours complaining about uncut hedges and unkempt flowers and all..." Gillie clearly had no consideration for the natural look and living essence of her property, for it was all about hiding from her neighbours.
None of them were cigarette smokers. All of them in one way or another were quite active. They worked. They exercised regularly. They raised their pets in the community and they had no habits that undermined their health not so grossly as smoking.
Mr. Piels two doors down from her home, enjoyed his ale at the local pub, but he was a responsible and hard working tradesman and a fan of both football and rugby, and he never drove while under the influence, though both Gillie and the Church lady goaded him about his drinking, for it was the only thing there was about him to goad.
Mrs. Mills lived on the other side, and her daughter, who was interested in horticulture had approached Gillie about tending her garden, when Mr. Daniels had issued a complaint to the local real estate board about Gillie's property and disrepair.
Gillie had been surviving on support income for years since having been diagnosed with stress induced depression a decade earlier, though she often used the diagnosis as a crutch to get away with avoiding certain responsibilities, such as the upkeep on her property.
When she began receiving legal notices from the real estate board, Jennine, Mrs. Mills' daughter showed up at Gillie's door, and had offered her services for a reasonable fee. Jennine had done such a good job, that three of the other neighbours hired her for the same thing, and at the young age of seventeen, she'd turned her summer chores into a tiny thriving business, and one that Gillie often attempted to take the credit for having helped the young woman, despite the fact that Jennine had taken the initiative in the first place.
In the end though, it all worked out for everyone involved, and it kept Gillie safe in a community that otherwise was very much opposed to her lifestyle and habits. Being inside of doors, smoking cigarette after cigarette was unbecoming of a member of their community, not to mention it wasn't the kind of thing they wanted their children to be exposed to.
Like most people in Gillie's position, she carefully picked the people around her that would protect her habits, while in return she'd protect theirs. A scaffolding of secrets, that protected them from the new sensibilities of the modern and awakened generation, one of whom was essentially sharing her body with her at that very moment.
"Would Jennine be interested in something a little more permanent? Something to keep her busy over the winter as well?" asked Mrs. Ardbloem of Gillie.
"I think she's got enough work to keep her busy..." Gillie became a dead-end for Jennine's future, for she didn't want Jennine's life to cross over into that of her tarot customers, a fact that Gwendolyn noted and filed away for later attending.
The more Gwendolyn became acquainted with Gillie, the more that she disliked the woman, for everything she did was only in the interest of herself and preserving her own status quot.
Gwendolyn further remembered Nathalie, though she couldn't recall her appearance entirely. She seemed to remember her being somewhat gothic in appearance, slightly but attractively heavier set than herself.
However, where Nathalie really shined, was her regard and concern for others, and how she could inspire them with her talents as a veteran tarot card reader. An intuitive empath, who truly loved to help inspire others onto a prosperous path.
Had Mrs. Ardbloem asked Nathalie the same question about Jennine, Nathalie would have gone out of her way to gather Jennine's contact information and practically arranged an interview for the opportunity, for she was a conduit rather than an obstruction. She would make reasonable effort to assist others where the opportunity presented itself, and quite often, the karmic returned were grand in the opportunities that visited such a woman.
Gwendolyn felt an intense sadness that her friend, despite her inability to do service in the recall of her memory, was absent from her new life, inhabiting the body of a woman she already despised.
How could the gift of one's life such as Nathalie's be taken from the world so readily, while preserving the life of one such as Gillie, who despite knowing better, was readily throwing away the greatest gift she'd ever received. Her own health and life.
And now, Gillie would be chain smoking for an entire week just so as to punish Gwendolyn for trying to convince her to end this immense threat to her health.
"How's Derek?" asked Gillie of Mrs. Ardbloem as she shuffled her deck.
Something about the name triggered another memory in Gwendolyn. Like she'd heard the name before, as much so as she'd heard the name Ardbloem, though she remained silent within Gillie and averted thinking about it too much in the case that Gillie could read her thoughts.
"Derek took Nelony..." Mrs. Ardbloem began, and a flood of memories rushed in the fill many of the empty spaces in her recall of her life.
She remembered a blonde haired woman. Very natural looking much like Mrs. Ardbloem herself. She was someone at ease with nature and natural surroundings, and it was as if the birds and fauna of the natural world all seemed to thrive in her presence.
There was a man, whose name was like Derek's. A similar syllable count, and at least two consonants in common.
A handsome man. Well dressed though not exceedingly so. Very well suited for the occasion. It was a party.
Somewhere out front of Gille's home, a dog barked, and more memories found their way to Gwendolyn's inventory.
They were on the grass, and there was a gazebo. People walking from it, and then a little dog: a pug had appeared, wagging its little curly pig-like tail.
Designer biscuits. The blonde haired lady, for she was friends with nature. She had them in her pocket, ready for the dog who'd greeted her. They'd known each other already, and there was an air of familiarity amongst them all.
"...out to see The Prestige last Friday, while I looked after the Health Food Store. She just loved it! You know how she is. She has such a crush on Hugh Jackman, though I think she tends to like much softer men, like her father," Mrs. Ardloem laughed about her remark.
"Just like her mother then?" Gillie began laying out the spread of Mrs. Ardbloem's fortune.
...
Neville walked along side Nelony, much more timidly than he had been earlier in the same day, the two of them in the lead as they crossed the street over towards Sato's Curios And Treasures, from the park they'd just left.
Happiu~isuka was now fast asleep in Mila's purse, which was slung over her right shoulder, as she kept it tucked in close to her breast protectively.
Beside her, Shaela and Wes walked together, their hands casually brushing together, but never long enough for them to clasp hold. Wes' heart beat steadily in his ears as he wondered what she might do if he tried to hold her hand.
"Looks like the store's closed..." Neville remarked back in the direction of Wes, Shaela and Mila.
"No its not!" Nelony corrected Neville as she peeked in through the front display case.
Inside of the store, she spied two men who appeared to be busy cleaning up the store, and removing the inventory from the shelves and storing it in plastic tote boxes. Over against the far wall at the back, there were already three stacks of such boxes, four in each stack.
Mila made her way over to the window and looked into the shop for herself, Nelony beside her.
"They must be handling the estate..." Mila remarked, both her and Shaela already familiar with the process thanks to the painful experiences they'd both had in losing those closest to them.
"Won't hurt to try, will it?" posed Wes to his friends, walking over to the door and pushing his way in like he was supposed to be there.
Shaela felt a tingle in her heart for him upon his having done so. Mila looked over to her, catching her blushing ever so slightly, and giving her enough to read Shaela's mind.
"You have good taste," Mila remarked to Shaela.
"I know," she smiled back at Mila as the two of them followed Wes into the store.
"Oy mate. I'm here to make a bid on the lot?" Wes spoke confidently, to the two men who appeared to be handling the packing job of the contents of the store.
The two men turned around, and they saw that the men were both Japanese.
"Not good Engrish..." one of the men responded as he struggled to communicate, standing up and bowing to their guests cautiously.
[I understand. Sato was a friend of ours.]
"分かります。佐藤さんは私たちの友人でした。" Mila addressed the men, who both smiled at her when she addressed them.
They then looked at each other, and back to Mila. As they stepped out into the open, Mila could see that they each bore a Saya, within which were the elaborately decorated grips of their Katanas.
"If you truly knew him, then perhaps you could enlighten us as to what happened to his dog?" a third Japanese man stepped out of Sato's backroom apartment and into view, addressing them in perfect English.
He was wearing a designer three piece suit and both of his hands were folded across his waist, as if blocking his energy center protectively. A Saya similar to those that the other men possessed lay almost horizontally and left of his folded hands.
Shaela, Nelony, Neville and Wes all stood protectively behind Mila, as a fourth party stepped out of the shadows and into view.
She was a mature woman, in her mid to late twenties, though it was impossible to tell for certain, for her eyes seemed to be everywhere at once.
Mila, Shaela and Nelony looked on, while Wes and Neville had gone strangely silent. The two of them deep in a trance.
"We are seeking both the puppy, and the man who gave it to Sato-Sensei," the woman addressed them.
"I don't think Wes and Neville are with us anymore..." Nelony spoke cautiously to Shaela and Mila.
"She has the puppy..." Neville's dreamy eyes remained fixed on the woman, as he pointed to Mila's purse.
"You jerk!" Shaela cursed Neville, though he had no awareness of her remark at all.
"Its alright. I was going to tell you. We took Happiu~isuka when we realized there was nobody to care for the puppy. We also found this. Its a gift card from the man who gave the puppy to Sato-Sensei," Mila withdrew the card from her purse, handing it to the mysterious woman.
She looked to the card, and then to Mila, perhaps reading the young woman.
[She has knowledge of the weave. Get the card from her.]
"彼女は織りの知識を持っています。彼女からカードを受け取ってください。" the woman addressed the man in the designer suit.
The man stepped over to Mila, and accepted the card from her. He then opened it and examined it, making sure of its absence of protective sigils or curses. When he was certain that it contained no threatening properties to his master, he relinquished it into her custody.
"He's connected to you in some way. His energy is very strong, and in his writing. It is attached to you, and has been from before your birth, Ren Dubel-Chan," the woman addressed Mila by her family name.
"You didn't see where they took him, did you?" asked the woman of Mila, though looking to all three of the women.
"He got in the ambulance with Sato-Sensei, when they took him to the hospital. He was an old man. Older than Sato-Sensei..." Mila explained to the woman.
"No. He was very close in age to yours. I think that you're mistaken. A disguise maybe to protect himself?" suggested the woman, inviting their suggestions.
"That was no disguise. He was withered by a man. A warlock of some kind..." Nelony explained to the woman.
The man in the designer suit looked to her.
"Yokai?" he suggested to her, causing Mila's face to contort as she confronted her fear of the word.
"What did he say?" asked Shaela of Mila.
"A monster. A very bad monster. Like a demon," Mila explained to Shaela and Nelony.
Shaela immediately recalled the shadow thing that had become the prey of the beast that had protected her when she'd fallen into a dimensional portal more than a year earlier.
"I am Katsura, though none of you will recollect our meeting here, but I will allow you to keep the puppy. Protect him, for he is the only link you'll have to what was once to be, but never will happen..." Katsura explained to Mila, Shaela and Nelony, as Wes and Nevile remained lost in their trance.
"Humanity has forgone the immense privilege of something so great. So important, that it will never know what it has lost. Like a blind man, trying to find his way in the dark, humanity has lost one of the keys to their future. What was to be, will no longer be. Not only can you not see for yourselves, but even if you could, the darkness will forever keep hidden the truth. In time, even this shop will have never been, and the people who kept it, will have never lived. Keep the puppy, but look no longer for the answers, for humanity has been forbidden from the light of truth," Katsura's voice trailed off, and the store's aisles stretched to infinity and beyond as another future unfolded in the place of the present.
Wes and Neville stared in the window of the shop, the windows on both sides now spotlessly clean and the store itself bereft of furniture. It had been completely renovated, its interior now replaced with a black and white tiled floor.
A pair of men began carrying furniture in through the back door from the parking lot around the other side, and as Wes and Neville watched, the store floor space slowly filled with tables and chairs.
They looked around for Mila, Shaela and Nelony, but they were nowhere to be seen, that is until a woman inside of the newly renovated restaurant gestured to them, and at once, they emerged from their trance, standing beside Mila, Shaela and Nelony as they admired the Shepperton Harbour Fish And Chips Restaurant.
"So are we going to try it? I'm buying," Mila offered to them.
"Are you kidding? Free fish and chips? I'm in..." Neville replied, already rubbing his stomach.
"Do you think they have vegan?" asked Nelony of Mila.
"Fish eat fish. Why can't you nature girl?" Shaela responded sarcastically to Nelony, causing Neville to burst out laughing at her.
"She got ya there. One point for the Siouxie Sioux knock-off," Neville continued laughing uneasily as Shaela's scathing glance caught his eyes.
Happiu~isuka popped his head out of Mila's purse and barked happily at someone passing them on the sidewalk.
It was a girl with long blonde hair. She stopped, leaning on her cane as she glanced over at the group of friends.
"I'm getting a funny feeling from this place. Do you know them, Gallea?" asked Glynis, who'd just beat her record for her longest unattended solo walk.
"I don't know, Glynis, but this place is familiar, and so if their dog..." Gallea responded, as Mila waved her her on account of Happiu~isuka's interest in her.
To be continued in Era of the Spellbound: Episode 5 - The Future That Never Was
To be continued...
I'm still an Atheist that leans toward Buddhism and Taoism, and my own love interest is Southeast Asian, but not Filipino with all due respect to that industrious and hard working community. Now of course, that means that I'm not Ron Silk, any more than I'm Snow (Darren O'Brien), as I'm not Irish. And no, I'm not Guyanese, nor am I transgender with all due respect. I support LGBTQ2 rights despite being a heterosexual male myself.
Credits and attribution:
Special Thanks To Rocket Fuel Lakeshore Blvd West, perhaps the best place in history to get a coffee, circa 2001-2004. Miss you all very much.
Tools: Daz3D, Corel Painter, Adobe Photoshop, Lightwave 3D, Blender, Stable Diffusion (Easy Diffusion distribution), InstantID, Sadtalker, Google Colaboratory, Microsoft Copilot (Windows 11), Hitfilm, PhotoPea (a great web based Photoshop stand-in if you're on a low budget or in a pinch), Borderline Obsession...
DeepSeek AI for suggestions on exercises to improve aspects of describing scene and settings with a more sensory focused grammar.
InstantID by: Wang, Qixun and Bai, Xu and Wang, Haofan and Qin, Zekui and Chen, Anthony. Research Paper Title: InstantID - Zero-shot Identity-Preserving Generation in Seconds.
Sadtalker by: Zhang, Wenxuan and Cun, Xiaodong and Wang, Xuan and Zhang, Yong and Shen, Xi and Guo, Yu and Shan, Ying and Wang, Fei.
Research Paper Title: SadTalker: Learning Realistic 3D Motion Coefficients for Stylized Audio-Driven Single Image Talking Face Animation.
Gratitude: Our Mentors, Senseis, Sifus, Sebomnims, lifetime inspirations, family, friends, the Nomads (ask Stanton about that one), the Music, the Movies, the Theatre, the Arts, ASMR, (both YouTube and Bilibili and the many other creators on those platforms), the Gaming and Developer communities and of course, the audience.
Martial Arts (in the words of real experts and at least one comedian): https://brucelee.com (home of the real Dragon and an entire family of inspirations), http://iwco.online International Wing Chun Organization (International presence of a very scalable intensity martial art, protected and developed by Shaolin Nun Ng Mui) and the alma mater of Jinn Hua's own specialized variation thereof, https://iogkf.com International Okinawan Goju-Ryu Karatedo Federation (even Hanshi had his teachers), https://itftkd.sport International Taekwondo Federation (Here there be Taegers), https://tangsoodoworld.com Tang Soo Do World (the path of Grandmaster Chuck Norris), https://www.aikido-international.org International Aikido Federation (how else would Navy Chef Steven Seagal liberate a Nimitz Class Aircraft Carrier from a team of hijackers?), https://www.stqitoronto.com Shaolin Temple Quanfa Institute (The City Of Toronto's own Shaolin Temple), https://www.enterthedojoshow.com Master Ken's Ameri-Te-Do presence (If we can't laugh at ourselves, then we can at least laugh the loudest at others, and other Zen)
Magic (performance, illusion and perhaps the real thing): Magic Week Archive (I'm currently growing this section so stay tuned)
Special thanks to Aitrepreneur, Mickmumpitz, Hugging Face and the YouTube educational content producers, including those catering to the AI content production pipeline and of course AlphaSignal.
Shi Heng Yi Shaolin Training For Self Mastery
A reknowned Sifu under whose tutelage you can study the theory and practical applications of the Shaolin Arts for health, physical and mental wellbeing in every day life
Shi Heng Yi Shaolin Training For Self Mastery
A reknowned Sifu under whose tutelage you can study the theory and practical applications of the Shaolin Arts for health, physical and mental wellbeing in every day life
Jesse Enkamp: Karate Nerd
Jesse, a reknowned Sensei who runs his own dojo, explores the world of Martial Arts, traveling to many exotic locations to meet practitioners of a variety of different arts
Sensei Rokas: Martial Arts Journey
A reknowned Sensei of Aikido who in seeking to understand the roots of Aikido and its applications, seeks to stress test its effectiveness in a number of real world situations while studying its history
Seamus O'Dowd
An extensive growing archive Katas, Techniques and Waza (mostly Shotokan)
Iaido: Train For Katana Mastery Like Samurai
The original weapons focused curriculum under which Samurai became masters of their art
Tapp Brothers Exercise For Better Motion
Extensive courses for calisthenics and body strength, stamina and flexibility
Special thanks to Canva for inspiring other creators and giving them the tools
Special thanks to Captain Crunch and his wonderful sister!
Special thanks to Bandcamp for giving indie music artists a home under one roof
Something to give you perspective: The very first teacher had no formal education, didn't graduate and was self taught, but only because they had no other choice. We do.
This content is entirely produced in Toronto, Ontario, Canada at 200 Sherbourne Street Suite 701 under the Shhhh! Digital Media banner.
