...a few hours did pass...
Jack awoke, feeling refreshed, the memory of his second refusal of Sancatuary slowly fading from his mind. Wiley remained where he had been when Jack had passed into slumber. Yet, the First One's eyes were blank, as if he were somewhere else entirely.
"Wiley?" The sight disturbed Jack not a little. "You all right?" No reply. Old Wiley was oblivious. Jack got up, stretching as he did so, and walked over to the First One. He waved his hand in front of Wiley's face, clapped his hands together loudly, shouted--but to no avail.
Strange, thought Jack, wondering what in the Hell was going on.
"Kuke! Kuka Shu!" Jack started at the piping sound. What the--? "Kukakuke! Shu! Shu!" The bizarre call grew more intense, seeming to draw closer with each passing moment. It kept repeating at random, loud and fierce--yet sounding almost comical. Jack didn't know whether he should cower in fear or laugh out loud.
Suddenly a miniscule creature appeared around the side of a large boulder. It was a foot tall if it was an inch--whatever it was. "Kuke! KuKuKu! Shinu-ta!" It looked like an animate doll pristinely designed in every detail, looking real, tangible and alive. And it moved eagerly toward Jack and Wiley's positions...
Volleyball 2003 - for Writers
Moderator: Ghost
WIley smiled knowingly as the diminutive man walked toward them. He gave a few more cries. Jack looked a question at Wiley who shrugged indecisively. "What is this?" he asked. Wiley's shoulders raised. "Perhaps you should ask."
Looking down at the mite of a person, Jack asked his name.
"Kokapelli," he answered firmly.
"Is that a name, or what you are?"
"Both," he smiled. "And both again to the question you are about to ask."
Jack looked surprised. "Do you read minds?"
"No. I have met your kind before. Great lumbering beasts with no finesse who walk heavy, scaring the spirits who feed them." Kokapelli put his hands on his hips, meetign Jack's gaze.
Rubbing the scrub of whiskers on his chin, Jack considered this Kokapelli. He had been poised to ask what if Kokapelli was a friend or a foe. Now he was unsure of himself. If the being was both friend and foe, what did it mean? And, could it be trusted?
Dismounting, Jack squatted and gazed at Kokapelli at hsi own level. "Are you here to offer me sanctuary?" His answer was a firm denial. Standing up, jack turned to Wiley. "This one's your call, Wiley. Does he go or stay."
Wiley considered for a moment. "He stays. After all, it's not often one of the First Ones receives aid from One Who Came Before." Kokapelli grinned. Then he jumped, catching the stirrup of Jack's saddle to climb up onto the saddlehorn.
"That way." Kokapelli pointed at the red mesa. Jack mounted carefully, not sure if he would crush the little man, or if Jack would receive the worst part...
Looking down at the mite of a person, Jack asked his name.
"Kokapelli," he answered firmly.
"Is that a name, or what you are?"
"Both," he smiled. "And both again to the question you are about to ask."
Jack looked surprised. "Do you read minds?"
"No. I have met your kind before. Great lumbering beasts with no finesse who walk heavy, scaring the spirits who feed them." Kokapelli put his hands on his hips, meetign Jack's gaze.
Rubbing the scrub of whiskers on his chin, Jack considered this Kokapelli. He had been poised to ask what if Kokapelli was a friend or a foe. Now he was unsure of himself. If the being was both friend and foe, what did it mean? And, could it be trusted?
Dismounting, Jack squatted and gazed at Kokapelli at hsi own level. "Are you here to offer me sanctuary?" His answer was a firm denial. Standing up, jack turned to Wiley. "This one's your call, Wiley. Does he go or stay."
Wiley considered for a moment. "He stays. After all, it's not often one of the First Ones receives aid from One Who Came Before." Kokapelli grinned. Then he jumped, catching the stirrup of Jack's saddle to climb up onto the saddlehorn.
"That way." Kokapelli pointed at the red mesa. Jack mounted carefully, not sure if he would crush the little man, or if Jack would receive the worst part...
I'm not really bad. I'm just...drawn that way.
Jessica Rabbit
Jessica Rabbit
...and they rode 'cross the dusty, rock-strewn 'scape towards the red mesa that never seemed to draw any nearer, though Jack swore they had already begun the ascent earlier...but things were strange here in this world of the imagination. Jack grunted. After all, here in this astral reality, he was a mere projection of his true self. Not really here at all, he thought, idly wondering how his body was doing.
How long have I been gone? Days? Years? Or mere moments? Jack could not know. He just hoped his body didn't die before he arrived back safely. He would hate to be left bodiless for all time...
"Oh, that won't happen," said the Kokapelli. "One of your philosophers put it best 'I think. Therefore, I am.' Or something of the sort." The little being shrugged his narrow shoulders. "If you're aware, then you're alive. Simple as that."
Jack grunted in response. He'd never quite thought of it like that. Made a weird sort of sense, though Jack really didn't feel like thinking about it at the moment. His mind was still on Mags. Should've took Sanctuary...
He shook his head. No. That ain't me...
How long have I been gone? Days? Years? Or mere moments? Jack could not know. He just hoped his body didn't die before he arrived back safely. He would hate to be left bodiless for all time...
"Oh, that won't happen," said the Kokapelli. "One of your philosophers put it best 'I think. Therefore, I am.' Or something of the sort." The little being shrugged his narrow shoulders. "If you're aware, then you're alive. Simple as that."
Jack grunted in response. He'd never quite thought of it like that. Made a weird sort of sense, though Jack really didn't feel like thinking about it at the moment. His mind was still on Mags. Should've took Sanctuary...
He shook his head. No. That ain't me...
"A writer's chosen task is to write well and professionally. If you can't keep doing it, then you're no longer a professional, but a gifted amateur." L. E. Modessit, jr.
And they rode on and on in unending monotany...and Jack slowly began to fade. Unfamiliar voices filled his mind, calling him back to his body. "Come home. Return." The whispers compelled obendience. Jack could not help but obey...and drifted slowly back to his body in the midst of his living room, a emaciated black man and a hefty black woman standing hunched over him.
Jack started with suprise. "What the hell." He looked about. His daughter stood not far off, her visage worried. "How's I get here...?" What happened to Wiley and the Kokapelli? And how'd I get in the recliner? Jack vividly recalled standing with a cup of coffee in hand.
"They brought you back, father," replied Alice.
"Damn!" Jack said a few other choice words. "I was off to save the Universe!"
"It was but a delusion," replied the black man, his voice oddly accented, almost French.
Jack sighed. This was too weird.
* * *
Meanwhile, far distant in Space/Time...
Jack started with suprise. "What the hell." He looked about. His daughter stood not far off, her visage worried. "How's I get here...?" What happened to Wiley and the Kokapelli? And how'd I get in the recliner? Jack vividly recalled standing with a cup of coffee in hand.
"They brought you back, father," replied Alice.
"Damn!" Jack said a few other choice words. "I was off to save the Universe!"
"It was but a delusion," replied the black man, his voice oddly accented, almost French.
Jack sighed. This was too weird.
* * *
Meanwhile, far distant in Space/Time...
"A writer's chosen task is to write well and professionally. If you can't keep doing it, then you're no longer a professional, but a gifted amateur." L. E. Modessit, jr.
The weather was a warm spring day in April, ripe with all the possibilities of youth. Tony walked along the waterfront where the gulls swarmed, dipping their wings against a contrary wind before diving a fishing boat coming into harbor. Dropping to a bench relatively unpolluted by the gulls fresh salt air filled his lungs. All the harbor smells were there -- salt spray, greasy machinery and the smell of a multitude of fish. A few wips of cloud floated in the sky, kin to the small crests of waves in the harbor. Tony's eyes reached for the horizon. Out in the bay, sails lanced upward, marking the yachters from teh working fishermen. He leaned back against the bench, lifting his arms and spreading them on the back of the bench, closing his eyes. He let the effects of last night's party clear away from his head.
Surrounding him were the sounds of surf and waves, the lapping of water against the wharf. The gulls were louder, lifting him from his relaxation. Even louder, then louder again, screaming now. Totally awake and aware, Tony opened his eyes. Shading them with a hand, he glanced around, watching gulls swoop down, searching for shelter...
Surrounding him were the sounds of surf and waves, the lapping of water against the wharf. The gulls were louder, lifting him from his relaxation. Even louder, then louder again, screaming now. Totally awake and aware, Tony opened his eyes. Shading them with a hand, he glanced around, watching gulls swoop down, searching for shelter...
I'm not really bad. I'm just...drawn that way.
Jessica Rabbit
Jessica Rabbit
.....amidst the charred remains of his dignity and failing, Tony collapsed in a heap upon his once-prized collection of corderoy evening wear and begain to wail. Even the velvety folds brought none of their usual comfort.
His remaining dinner guests abandoned decorum and began edging for the door, one or two pausing to pocket the odd choice piece of silver from the table. Everyone ignored the gold bust of Neil Diamond. Only Paul lingered, sipping his Glenfiddich and idly fondling..........
His remaining dinner guests abandoned decorum and began edging for the door, one or two pausing to pocket the odd choice piece of silver from the table. Everyone ignored the gold bust of Neil Diamond. Only Paul lingered, sipping his Glenfiddich and idly fondling..........
Colourless green ideas sleep furiously
Moderation Notice:
Since we're starting a new Volleyball thread, I'm locking this thread and the commentary thread to prevent confusion. A new thread will be started shortly...
Since we're starting a new Volleyball thread, I'm locking this thread and the commentary thread to prevent confusion. A new thread will be started shortly...
"A writer's chosen task is to write well and professionally. If you can't keep doing it, then you're no longer a professional, but a gifted amateur." L. E. Modessit, jr.