Ma Shelf

Telling stories. Sharing stories.

[gureitoferunando]

Now and when

Sitting on the floor of the station, people rush by him: young, ugly, worried, in all shapes and sizes and colors. He just sits, cross-legged, over a rough cotton rug. To his left, in a chipped white and blue ceramic bowl, sometimes wishes are left. To his right, in a bent and scorched copper plate, curses constantly drip down. In front of him, sand is carried away by passersby, too worried with everything to see anything.

His last grain of sand gone, he unfolds. The wishes go in a black silk pouch -- a friend takes care of those. The curses, those he burns until not even smoke is left. Into a purple, velvet knapsack he packs the rug, twice folded then rolled; the bowl, wrapped in clean bleached wool; and the plate, still creaking from the heat.

Shouldering the bag, he walks into the station, waiting for his train. All around people rush by, not seeing yet forever dreading meeting him. This does not bother him, not at all. For he's there to ferry, and the ones that need his services, line up behind him. Always.

[gureitoferunando]

Cast anew

"If there is so much pollen around, how come all bees are dead? They eat the stuff, right?"

Younger than the plough-boy by two winters, Tolla casts his broken arm in gypsum-cloth, quieting the dozen expletives that crossed her mind. How, unlearned, can he really be? Tolla herself knew all that is to know about beekeeping two springs past. And last summer, Anna got her started on sheep-rearing. Old as an oak, Anna.

Tolla's life as a grounds-keeper is no more: gone with Anna's death, cleared with sending fire, helped by Junel.

"You're a healer now. That means helping villagers, common folk. They don't expect us to talk much, and I'm happy to oblige," Junel told her just this morning.

Tolla begins to understand why.

[gureitoferunando]

Decisions

"One appointment -- full day," the schedule pings. Flustered, N spawns 16 spiders to fill in the blanks then begins an offline full-systems diagnostics instead of the quicker self-check.

An alias, a comm-address and 102 camera-pics, all older than 6 years. The spiders failed N for the first time in 7.4 years. This person is serious trouble. Yet, crushing the meta-data left 23.4% probability of it being a fugitive. Enough to make the risk worth it.

I better go with an young and hopeful androgynous face and slight build. Some light armor, speed boosters and net scramblers. Yes. That can work. Still. Better let Assembler know I might need a new body. It's been 8 years since Sampa. I was starting to like the quiet.

[gureitoferunando]

Jella unleashed

Synesthetic cacophony is something Jella does not wish to anybody, and few people knew the degree of her synesthesia. That alone makes this a planned attack. A careful, orchestrated, attack.

Even fewer people though, knew the extent of her training. That secret at least, seems safe. Had she not trained to withstand sensory overload, she would now be a drooling fetal ball, shielding eyes and ears. Instead, she dashes, jaw clenching and eyes watering, to the nearest wall.

"A quick location, a safe location," she intones louder and louder, eyes closed. She slumps forward, left hand keeping her steady against the wall while her right hand fumbles with the zipper of the waist bag, reaching for her chalk. Settling on the destination, she opens her eyes and shouts: "The meeting place," chalking a perfect circle in a single sweeping motion.

Reality melts, dragging her through the void to a place only Walkers can reach. She's safe for now. Time to hunt.

[gureitoferunando]

Fire beetle

He lies quite still there, scarcely a feet away from the cliff's wall, folded legs the center of a crescent of scorched grass. The insistent sleet extinguished the fire and, now, finally cooled the heat from the entry.

His matte black outer shell barely moves, a quasi-statue in its powerlessness. Every breath, its limbs raise and lower millimeters, the scratched chest plates expanding and contracting, interconnections almost creaking. In his mind at least, they creak. Muffled steps and roars and thunderclaps filter through the helmet, each one racing his hearth but not helping with the awakening. His bare human muscles can't accomplish anything.

It went so wrong, he has a hard time just... Remembering... Where? Why?

Who?

[gureitoferunando]

What now?

You can't understand the lyrics, nor follow the melody and yet the thumping cycle of the bass line enthrals you. Are you high? Stretching your right arm you see and count 5 steady fingers. Your gaze does not flinch, colors don't swirl. What then?

A tumbler cools your left hand, slick with condensation. Ice melts inside it, diluting the black liquid and amber foam there contained. It smells of coffee and hazelnut. Espresso, perhaps?

You cry now, and look down to find bold, shaky red letters. Another's handwriting: "Goodbye"

Oh...

Shit.

[gureitoferunando]

Bouncing happiness

The sun warms me as I walk down 19th street past a corner where, outdoor speakers blasting, a couple prepares to receive guests. He rakes the backyard, arms swinging to the bass line. She stacks red platic cups besides an orange pyramidal cake. Barelly 3 feet tall, twins A and B burst from the side door in pastel pink dresses. Arms linked, they spin, bright orange hairbands a blur, then bolt to gaze at the still inflating bouncing castle. The music stops, he looks up, waves at me. I stare, frozen. He smiles, not the human version, more like a baboon. Better walk away.

Lina had been jumping on the trampolines, bushy hair in counter-point to a flushing face. "The trampoline is the meaning of life," Lina greets when I step inside. "Like 42 is the answer to the ultimate question."

Indeed, all the jumping faces here smile easily. Aknowledging Lina's axiom, I pull out my draft to quadruple check the algebra. I do not even reach the end of the page before a clean and fluffy hand-towel covers it all. Not really annoyed, I look up to find an old copy of "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" almost pressed to my nose. After I reach for the book, Lina flops to my side. "You told me you had never read it before."

I leaf through the first few pages, feeling the rough, old paper. Hints of chocolate and vanilla. Scented tobbaco? My eyes glide, effortless, over the lines. Perfect. Lina gives me a sweaty hug, "Happy birthday!"

My thank you comes, after a while.

[gureitoferunando]

Punchy Sparrow

Wondering how it was done in the past, Sparrow waltzed with their partner. Lights, warning of incoming danger, flashed inside the hardsuit. Both aware, smoothly they spun away. Circles and spirals weaving an evasion pattern, hoping to draw the attackers closer and deeper into the trap. A jolt brings Sparrow back to the sensors and then scrambling for cover. A massive Stalker was visible now, their perfect waltzing saving them from its deadly pounce. That asks for a different approach. Trusting the initial attackers to the other couples, they spring out of cover.

Wondering what a sparrow looked like when they still lived on Earth, they flit about, burning strong all the while. Its massive body unable to keep up with their reckless flight, the Stalker becomes prey. Brushing by it, they order a total release.

~ TARGET NEUTRALIZED ~

Sparrow relaxes. All their power gone, and the Stalker is immobilized. There is nothing else to do now, just wait. For they will come. Life is too precious out here. All life. Even those that want to kill you.

[gureitoferunando]

Tema trembled...

The day finally caught up, leaving her shaking. The adrenalin she had been riding with, result of the braveness, courage, and firsts of the day, had vanished with the caffeine. The usual demons were back biting and barking and spitting and scratching.

Limp, lying in a corner with a half-empty bottle, it left Tema exhausted, trying (and failing) to cry. It took all of her just to keep breathing evenly.

Why is it so hard? Don't people do this shit all the time? Why the fuck they do not realize, how difficult it all is to her? Every time...

Every time, she thinks herself broken, defective. She has dragged herself out of these moods so far, but until when? Would it come a day where she would not be able anymore?

Washing that down with another gulp from the bottle, she finally cries herself unto unconsciousness.

[gureitoferunando]

Meet Patosh

Patosh slides slowly down the sofa, in perfect sync with a long sigh. Shaking hands extend towards the water jug, tentatively grabbing it. "Shoot. I was just answering the door. No need to get like that." The cool water calms Patosh enough to make booting the terminal possible. A careful handshake guarantees the channel is secure. Eyes closed, hopping the usuals are hanging around at The Truth's House, Patosh dives. Senses disconcerted for a breath, as realities exchange themselves on Patosh's eye-of-the-mind.

And the shaking subsides. This is Patosh's natural environment. The bright data lanes; avatars a pure representation of one's will, neither dictated nor frowned upon by peers. The land of the wild. And free.

The relentless worry about others lifted; the mind flexes its mighty muscles. Here, Patosh's power is unmatched. Over the information plains, Patosh rules.

[gureitoferunando]

Tona's beginnings.

"Fuck all this," and off the link goes. A slave to others, that's what Tona has been feeling like. Creeping up, threatening to take over the few choices that Tona felt where still open.

Tona's parents behavior was... It was understandable, even if not warranted. It was mostly a deeply rooted my offspring shall do well and spread our influence kind of thing. Never directly stating what should be done, but pointedly noting that others were... Doing better. Tona knew a few downright crazy parents, and was grateful for not having one of these. The kind that considered their purpose in life to blame the world for encroaching on their poor children's mind, poisoning them with dirt, and immorality... Or even worse, ammorality, or what they considered it to be. The same ones that could not fathom opening their minds, rational and emotional, to said children; to become closer to them. Instead of looking to them as clay to be fit to a mold.

Schoolmates... Do not even get started on schoolmates. Would the Geneva Committee ever deign to investigate schools, Tona wondered. Genocide, cultural cleansing happened far from home. But the bullying and the social onslaught perpetrated by the cool majority against the weird minority; that, was close. Real close. And rang all the right bells for "human rights violations" that Tona kept hearing about. Not at all less important.

But now. It seems like the whole world decided that it is their existential purpose to bring the lost children to their folds. Only that their folds seemed innumerable. Each louder than the other, shouting, demanding attention and compliance. And attacking each other. Publicly and under wraps. It made the civil wars of the past look like kids throwing mud at one another.

"Fuck all this," again. Just for good measure.

Tona Gathers pens, brushes and notebooks. Books. Finally, the phone beckons. Sighing, Tona gets the phone and calls. Of course. Voice mail...

"Hi there. Just wanted to say; I do love you."

With the bag over the shoulder and phone back inside, Tona walks through the threshold. To a new world. Tona's world. Not anyone's else.

[gureitoferunando]

Come and gone

Sitting at the top of the cliff, she was thinking about killing herself.

That is what us from around here would think, the way she looked aloof in there and it being a premium spot for jumpers. Kids from the big city came all the way here just to get away from everything else. And she was most definitely not from around here. I would remember her.

---

"Hey, Miss. There is a storm coming, it will get dangerous in here." Will said, keeping distance from the girl until he could make eye contact.

"Lisa."

"Sorry?"

"That's how I go by, Will. Lisa. You always call me that." The odd retort staggered the boy, recovering shortly later just to realise Lisa was almost by his side, bowing a short curtsy. "Would you accompany me to the town?" With that she took hold of Will's arm, and he gave everything else to her.

---

Why was I not flushing? How did I managed to keep a normal conversation? Questions I am still not able to answer. It was just... Instant bond, like, super-glue. It felt like I knew her all my life.

---

They got inside the pub just before the storm hit. Bruce raised an eyebrow seeing Will, arms entwined with a girl. He could not recall ever seeing the boy with a girl, specially somebody from out of town. Questions could wait though, they were closing on him. "Could we get two mulled wines, some bread and cheese, please, Bruce?" The barman snapped back, wondering if he had really heard the girl saying his name; he must have misheard, hard night as it was. "Yes miss. Just find yourselves a table, and I will bring it to you."

---

We talked about... I do not really recall, but it must've been a lot of things. We had two mulled wines each and a few pitchers of water but my mouth was still parched by the end of the night. We walked out of the pub and wandered around town, still talking. After a long while, she kissed my cheeks saying "see you tomorrow", and walked away with another curtsy.

---

A bright sun woke up the boy next morning. Gazing at the blue sky, he wondered why the window was open and how did he got home. Getting up, Will washed and dressed up, not really aware of the world. Deciding to make this an early day, he grabbed his raincoat and walked out the door.

"How's your morning, conjurer of dreams?" Still a bit drowsy, Will searched around, finding Lisa sitting by the stairs just outside the door.

"Fine, I think. What did you just called me?"

"It does not matter Will. Just give it time."

And with arms linked, they walked off to the hills.

---

We locals avoid those hills. Nobody can remember what's the reason, but... It's like, people from big cities know how to tell the good streets from the bad without being told, don't they?

But I walked there with her. Not even for a single moment feeling uneasy.

---

They got to the hills just before mid-morning. Will covered his eyes looking around. "Weird, I do not remember there being a rocky patch like this in here."

Lisa just smiled. The truest smile the boy ever recalled seeing. A deep, sad smile. He shivered as something snapped inside his mind. "You do not remember, because you can not hold it in your mind. That will change someday." A kiss to the boy's forehead, and he passed out.

Carefully she covered Will with his raincoat as a thick mist descended everywhere. "I will wait for you, Conjurer. You will find me again." Tears streak her cheeks as Lisa walks away; the grey mists dispersing as a thin rain starts. She is gone.

---

Next thing... She was gone. I do not know how long I was out; and that awful overcast... Never I saw clouds like that. It's like... They came to pick her up... But that is a silly notion, isn't it? I wonder why nobody remembers her...

And why can't I stop crying?

[gureitoferunando]

Not yet

Slowly pulling down the covers, drowsy eyes peeking out; not yet fully awake, already fearful. Of the cold. Of the snow. Of the postman and his blue attire. Oh, but the mirror... That's a beast set to get you. Getting up and facing the world, your innermost desires and flaws, mirrored, amplified; no way of controlling it.

The all consuming fear wins. A hasty, shivering, retreat beneath the covers your only sensible answer... The world will have to wait some more.

[gureitoferunando]

Obvious

The molten flow, heat and light making the temperature obvious.

"How can you do all this?"

"What do you mean with that?" expertly manipulating the flow into the desired shape

"That. 'tis molten metal we are dealing with in here..."

A twisting spire takes shape in front of the pair "Patience. Love." a loud spit, and the tower collapses.

"And practice, lots of practice..." putting the gloves and goggles down, and stretching.

"A whole lot of that, to be precise." reaching for the tongs, and dumping the still hot remains back into the forge.

"Yeah, but been around as long as you, practiced as hard also. Still, can't make anything like that."

"Ever wondered why I never use any of your alloys?"

"... That 'been nagging at me alright..."

"I would never be able to make them do this. Give them a purpose of my willing. They have a life of their own, your alloys."

"... And now I ask. What do you mean?"

"You pour your soul on them, always. Ask yourself, what is it that you are pouring in there. You will find those are the things only you can make."

"Huh. Never considered."

"Yeah, we never do, 'till we do." donning gloves and goggles and reaching out to let the metal flow anew. "Then, we never look back."

[gureitoferunando]

Tides and young ones

"Time to get ready..." Tin yawns resigned. Null days are always so tiring.

Unless you are a young soul... Amazing the effect the nulls had on the ones not completely attuned to the Tides. For some reason, the fact that neither red nor blue were pulling drove them wild. No satisfactory explanation have been found so far though, in four thousand years of written tradition. The prevailing though being that the lack of blue and red pull, combined with the inability of the young ones to hold mist reserves, affected their capacity to exert restrain. The fact that the young ones are unusually contemplative on Minor Null days, when only red had no pull, gives credence to those ideas.

But to answer the question with any finality, you would need to take young ones out of their Nurseries. No Keeper would ever allow that. Never. Theirs is the only sacred duty. Since before the writing tradition. Even before the storytelling days, some say. You do not become a Keeper, you are born one.

In the end, this is what makes Tin get out of the bed. The young ones will be up soon, and this is Tin's mandate: to make sure they are cared for. Time to prepare.

[gureitoferunando]

Escape...?

I like Red. Friendly Red, not like sticky blue. Slick Red, helps me get out of souls way. Not bogging blue. Gooey, thick blue, keeps Phon close to demanding souls. Souls that ask Phon to do things Phon do not want do do. Split things. Things that are not ready to be split. The souls do not seem to care about that. Things have a time to be split. Things should not be split without them wanting to. Things should not be split if they are not ready. They think sticking them back together with gluey blue makes them the same. Never does. No, no. Ever. They do not notice. Hum, perhaps they do not care. They do not care about much. Other than smashing things into tiny tiny bits. Anyway, Phon is going away. Faar, far away. Quick Red will make sure of that. Always quicker than blue. Musty blue never catches up to breezy Red.

[gureitoferunando]

Breaking and entry

Blue is together, red is apart. Blue sees the whole, red looks at pieces. Blue mends, red destroys. Blue links, red severs. We need both. That's how we grew up. That's how we evolved.

So, what happened in here? It's hard to feel any blue at all, almost like there is a blue dam, or sink. "A soul stays too long in here and boom. No more coherent thoughts". Realization creeps into Timak. "The rumours are true. Someone's been messing up with souls in here. This feels like a torture chamber..."

Red boils up inside Timak "Good thing they dammed the blue". Tapping freely now, red gushing in, analysing, looking for a way in. Whoever did this went to a world of trouble to make it hard to get in. But it is still to be found anything capable of keeping Timak out of something.

A tiny crack. "Found ya". Just a dash of blue to focus the link with the crack and let the red flood it. Not bothering to control it any more. Usually Timak would be concerned about going all out like that. Not today. This is so messed up, Timak does not care if everything and everysoul goes away in a flash of red.

A few moments, and the crack gives way to a passage, just wide enough. "No need to store red in here" Timak crouches and crawls into the passage, purging some red out of the internal reserves while gathering as much blue as the environment allows. Hoping that whomever is responsible is still around. They have some questions to answer...