In My Mind's Eye

I close my eyes and dream, and in that fog-walled room I meet a man, sitting at a table and drinking his coffee. He talks to me, as we are old friends, and we unfold a relationship, a story to be told. And as we talk, the fog mutates and shifts, forming the coffee shop we chanced to meet in. and as we sit and watch, catching up on old times and new turns, the world outside takes form.

I look out on the 'new' street, which does not seem new to me at all, and remember I must meet my bus and go home. With a hug, an affectionate peck on the cheek and promise to call soon, I traipse out the door and hurry to the bus stop.

On the swift, thoughtful journey, I realize; It is not me. Not my story being unfolded, but that of a heroine, born into the circumstance, and as such, must be allowed to create her own personality. And so I step back, permitting her to reveal her own identity.

She has long, dark hair, Brown eyes that soak in light; but rather than mute it like a vacuum, it refracts within, coming to life with a warm fire. And, revealed to me in a passing thought, her name: Erin.

We hop onto the bus- me as her shadow, and grab a seat for the long ride. Her smile is soft and thoughtful, kept to herself, as she recalls the chance meeting over coffee. It'd been so long since they'd met, yet they talked in all the familiar ways. She tries not to be too fanciful, leaving the “which”s and “whether-for”s to attend themselves, and simply enjoys the memory. A pleasant memory, long overdue.

She departs from the bus on a familiar street, ignorant of my ghost-like presence. I follow behind, scribbling frantically, committing as much as possible to memory so that she and her story are not lost to the fog.

We walk, down the street and up the path, to the door of a little condo; not a dream home by any means, but cute and manageable now.

It is here that I leave her- not by choice or design, but because I am not allowed to follow. She enters through her door, and I am shut out, left standing on the sidewalk as the city around me hazes with the end of a day. Only me and the home left bright.

I fold my imagined note papers into an intangible folder, staring wistfully at the door as I file them away safely. Another day; She'll come back to me another day, and hopefully tell me more.

For now, I tug my nonexistent cap low, stick my hands in my pockets, and stroll down the street and away, to disappear into the fading scenery.

The Sun Seeker- The Telling

“Beside the trickling water of the sacred fountains, wrapped in the soft, cool light of the moon, Did Cicera and Artem meet. It was a love unknown to one, unsought by the other, and forbidden to both; For he was a Trium Prince, destined to uphold the Light of Solem, and Cicera a wandering Child of Lore.”

Jesphyr wove her hands through the steam off the Telling Pot, making the tiny puffs of gas reform into the vague silhouettes of the woeful lovers, drawing appreciative smiles from her onlookers. She shook her hair out of her eyes like a pony, needing both hands for the telling. The soup was coalescing well. As new listeners joined the circle around her, some brought new offerings to add into the pot.

“Even knowing their fate to be doomed, they continued to meet, under the cold moon of winter, and the sweet smelling blooms of spring, and the soft heat of summer lanterns. Three whole seasons they spent, stealing embraces and growing their affections, growing closer. As the golden summer faded into the crisp chill of autumn, their love was to be discovered.”

A little girl scurried forward from the crowd with her parents trailing indulgently behind. She grinned infectiously up at Jesphyr as she held out three fat parsnips. Jes returned the smile and accepted the vegetables, chopping them into shapes before adding them into the pot.

“On the first fateful night, Artem's family detained him, sending a steward to meet Cicera instead. He offered her a bitter choice: He could give her a ship, so she could sail away and never return. Or, if she refused, the Trium house would expose the affair, and cast doubts on her Lorekeeping, destroying her livelihood.”

Here Jesphyr took a handful of powdered herbs from her bag, sprinkling it into the soup and causing new colors of steam to swirl up. Deep purples and rusty reds, and a heady yellow fumed up in a savory smelling cloud. The crowd gasped, and the little girl practically vibrated in excitement.

Jes held back a grin, appreciating her young listener more than the surrounding crowd. She held up a parsnip she had whittled into the form of a woman for the girl who remained at her knee.

“It was a heartrending choice; the man she loved, or the life she was sworn to. A life she lived and breathed as surely as she loved Artem.” She held up a parsnip man, then a tiny parsnip book, dropping each into the pot as she continued to stir.

“She decided to wait, to see Artem one last time. If he would choose her, she knew they could withstand whatever else would happen. On the second fateful night, She sent a message to him; One last message to meet, as they always did. One last chance for their love. But Artem... he never came.”

Jesphyr gave the pot a broad stir, and the multi colored puffs of steam coelesced into a deep purple, mottled with yellow and orange streaks. She finished whittling the last parsnip into the shape she desired, holding up a tiny ship with a single deck and sails.

“So on the third fateful night, Cicera took the ship the steward had offered, and sailed off into the blue-black of the stars, swearing never to return to the Glass City. She spent the rest of her days drifting between the settlements, telling her tales of people and life; Bringing joy and love to others, even through the loss of her own.”

She sailed the ship through the purple cloud, looking an awful lot like the night sky above them, before letting it plop into the soup. The crowd murmured sadly, but applauded as they began to disperse.

Jes sighed and stretched her shoulders, shaking off the proverbial mantle of loreteller for the day.

“But... What happened? Didn't Artem come find her?” Jes looked down to see her new friend frowning at her in disappointment.

“He never did,” she smiled gently as she stirred her soup. “He found a princess that his family liked, and married her, and Cicera never saw him again.”

“But, that's stupid.” The girl crossed her arms stubbornly, making Jes laugh. She got down on the ground, where she could look the girl in the eye.

“Yeah, people do stupid things some times. But it's okay: Cicera wasn't lonely for long.”

“No?”

“Nope,” Jes dug in her bag but kept talking. She continued in her Loreteller voice, holding the little girl's attention on her face. “See, Cicera had truly loved Artem, with her whole entire heart. Her love was so pure that Great Solem blessed her with a beautiful gift.” Jes lifted folded hands between them, pealing back her fingers like flower petals to reveal a tiny doll wrapped in a rag blanket.

“She gave her a baby?” the girl gasped in delight.

“She did,” Jesphyr grinned, her coal-rimmed eyes crinkling at the childs' sincere reactions. “A beautiful little sundrop to brighten her days.” She held out the tiny doll and the girl took it reverently.

Jes glanced up as the girls' parents came forward and she touched her forehead in a respectful salute. Behind their shoulder, a man floated at the edge of the dispersing crowd, swathed in deep crimson and black. his face was shaded inside his hood, but the long, almost white hair that draped down his chest marked him as a Solari. He inclined his head politely as she regarded him.

Guard you thoughts.

“What was the baby's name?”

Jesphyr turned back to the girl, trying to block the Solari from her mind.

“I don't know... What do you think it's name should be?” She joined the girl in serious consideration of the doll.

“... Sola, like the Sunsister.”

Jes grinned, recognizing the name from a children's show on the network. “Sola is a pretty cool name.”

The little family moved on, and Jes started to pack up her little make-believe campsite; She turned off the burner below the Telling Pot, looking hungrily at the soup within. It had been a good crowd, and there were a nice assortment of hearty vegetables. She'd had to add broth a couple times, which meant there was soup to last for days now. She clipped the lid on top, excited to parcel it out when she got home.

“Is that where babies come from?”

She guessed without turning who the droll voice belonged to. She glanced dismissively over her shoulder at the Solari and continued packing.

“Lorekeepers always tell the truth.”

“Albeit in bite-sized pieces.” She could hear a smile in his voice, feel the charm he was trying to ooze out. “I must remember that one for my niece when she starts asking.”

She shrugged politely, trying to be too busy to hold conversation.

“Your Telling is good. Though, your version of Cicera's Lament is not quite the one I'm familiar with.”

Jes looked the man over carefully. He seemed young, around her age. The features within his cowl were refined, like all Solari, but not overly remarkable that she could tell. He had the same pale hair and disturbing golden-white eyes as the rest of them. But the hood disguised much.

He seemed to be gauging her in a similar fashion, so she looked away with another shrug, trying for nonchalance. “I'm surprised you've heard it at all. It's not one of the popular stories.”

“I imagine not many people know Cicera's tales. She keeps them very close, by all accounts.”

Jesphyr hefted her bag onto her shoulder and picked up the now heavy Telling Pot. “Lorekeepers pass on their tales carefully, to those they trust.”

“Those they love, you mean,” The man pressed. “Those Cicera loved with a pure, wholehearted love?”

Her shoulders tensed. Trouble, the voice in her head shouted. Guard your thoughts. It was time to go.

“That's how The Telling goes. Good night, Solar.” She ducked past him, intent on disappearing into the crowds.

“One last question, Lorekeeper,” he called after her, and she stopped, though she knew she shouldn't. He pulled something out of his cloak and set it on the lid of her pot; an offering for the telling. “The child's name: what was it, really?”

Jesphyr's heart twisted in her chest, and she stood frozen for a long moment. “It's a story, Solar. A sad myth about making choices. Choose a name that is important to you, it'll make it no difference.”

“A myth is simply a truth wrapped in poetry, Lorekeeper. If it wasn't, a truthsome lorekeeper could not tell it.” He smiled. “Isn't that also how The Telling goes?”

She stared at his wrapped offering so she wouldn't have to look at him, so he wouldn't see the pain and panic in her eyes. She tried to think of a way to dismiss the question, to dodge it, as she had with the little girl.

Lorekeepers always tell the truth.

It took her a moment to breathe, then to steel her shoulders and look him dead in the eye.

“She named her child Jesphyr.”

Everyday Dragons

On the outside, I sit quietly at the table, sipping at my tea. My dress is a bit funky, but classic, my presence polite and demure.

But in my mind, I've just felled four beasts and a demon with my mad ninja skills. My hair is chopped crudely, tied into braids to stay out of my face. The right sleeve of my shirt falls in tatters where a close call almost claimed my arm.

On the outside, I smile politely at passersby, blush a little at the cute boy who winks my direction.

Inside, I sharpen my sword as the dragon horde circles around me, jeering and taunting me to fall.

My eyes narrowed in determination, I take a deep breath and bellow, “Who's next? Have you no champions, no brave creatures to best me?” and I laugh.

I laughed at what the boy just did; making a spectacle, obviously wanting attention. Silly boy, I think, Doesn't he know he could just say 'Hi'?

“I!” Roars a powerful voice, and the great dragon himself charges forward.

For a moment I am daunted; I did not expect him so fast, so soon. But I have called this battle out, and am determined to see it through. I take my ready stance as he beats his wings upon the ground, terrifying, intimidating.

“Sorry if I distracted you,” The boy smiles from the table beside mine.

I smirk, shaking my head lightly to myself at his antics.

“Oh no,” I say, “That napkin holder clearly had it coming. Mine's been giving me the stink-eye too.”

“Wait, yours has eyes?” He asks in feigned shock, “They're evolving!”

And we share a laugh.

His eyes spark with inner fire, and I raise my shield to ward off the imminent blast. This dragon is huge. How will I beat it?

“You puny little knight. I can snap you up in the space of a spark!”

“So you say,” I taunt back. “Yet here I stand. Don't tell me you're all talk. I'm disappointed!”

He looses an angry roar, and in that second I see my opening. I drop my shield.

“I'm Anna, by the way,” I extend my hand, offering him the opening he was looking for.

“Kyle,” His eyes warm with triumph as he takes my hand. “So what do you do?”

“I'm a writer,” I say, gesturing to my papers and notebooks, and explain a little of what I do.

“You write adventures? What about romance?”

“Oh,” I glance away slyly, “A little of that too.”

Unhindered by my shield, I rush straight for the beast, even as he lowers his head to snap me up, as promised. I kick on more speed.

“So what do you do for fun then?”

“writing isn't supposed to be fun?” I look at him all wide-eyed, watching his neck turn red.

“Well, other then that,” He laughs politely.

I give him my short list: music, dance, art, kids, video games, etc.

“Oh... so, do you have kids?” The 'oh crap!' light flares in his eyes, and I hide my disappointment behind a wistful smile.

At the last second I jump, going headlong into the fiery maw of the dragon. His teeth snap shut, and the sound of his gulp resonates over the shocked horde.

First stillness, and then rejoicing as the riot of foul creatures celebrate the demise of another knight. It goes on for long minutes as the dragon drinks up their praise. All is going his way, at least until-

“No, not yet,” I say and watch him relax an iota. I wiggle my bare ring finger. “Kids aren't in the cards just yet.”

“Ah,” He says with a frown, not sure he wants to pursue the topic. How unfortunate.

I gather my notebooks and tea.

Inside the dragon, I thwart the sting of fire and bile, shoving my blade toward the esophagus wall. I rip it sideways as a roar vibrates my painful cocoon. Focusing through the pain I force the blade around, cutting a way out, gouging my foe.

His roar fills the cavern, echoing even after he falls slain.

I fight my way out of the remains.

“It was nice talking to you,” I smile as I leave my seat. “Good luck with the napkin holder apocalypse.”

“Uh, yeah sure. You too.” He smiles uncertainly.

I head outside to my bus.

Using my sword, I pull myself to a standing position. Acid stings my skin, dripping from what's left of my clothing. I blink stinging eyes at the horde, staring them down as best I can.

“Who's next?” I growl.

Their knees quake, their eyes roll, then I hear the thunder of feet as they claw over each other to get away.

A solid, if painful, victory.

I ponder my day as the bus pulls up to my street. Poor boy. He was nice enough, I suppose. Just not up for the adventures I write.

Paws scrabble behind my front door, and whining ensues as I try to push my way inside.

“Hi baby,” I pat my dog on the head, as he gruffs and snuffs a greeting. Heaving a sigh, I set down my burden on the entry table. My dog cocks his head at me.

“Well, that was an adventure,” I tell him. “How was your day?”