There came a scratching at the door one night (shortly after dinner). Their hearts pounding in their throats, they sent the boy, thinking he would not be harmed. “The trees have come,” the boy said, his little face ashen. “They’re here for Uncle Timothy.” “Damn,” said Tim, stepping forward. He knew they’d find him one day, as they had all of the lumberjacks before him.
The Indian woman appeared to Luella in a dream, telling her that it was time to find the horses. The sun shone brightly, glinting off of red rock, silver sagebrush, and clear blue water. Luella felt a little guilty for wandering off, but the woman’s smile seemed to say that it’d be all right. She heard the horses stamping and whinnying at the fork in the river, and the urge to run overwhelmed her. Legs pumping, hair flying, hooves kicking up spray, Luella raced away, the world aglow as it swirled by. They found her and got a nurse to take her pulse and record the time; calls were made and tears shed, but Luella did not linger in any way to observe them. She and the other free spirits were well down canyon by then.
The Snow White thing got pretty intense, but resolved well enough. Afterwards, the dwarves had a unique opportunity to go into glass coffin building but, really, it was working with the gold that they’d enjoyed the most. Try as they might to lead unassuming lives, it was all about gold and jewels. The one they’d taken to calling “Doc” made a proposal. “My fine friends,” he began, taking his cap off and letting his hair braids down. “It’s time. Let us leave this place and take the first steps to reclaiming what is rightfully ours.” He raised his pint, as did the others. “To Gandalf, to the future, and dragons be damned!”
“Ray, are you coming to the meeting?” Shelley asked, stopping just outside of his cubicle. He sat there, still and peaceful. “Ray? Hello? Earth to Ray!” she tried again. He held his hand up. “You and I are made of star stuff, Shelley. Particles and emissions of energy formed billions upon billions of years ago in an explosive act of world-building that goes beyond what you and I will ever see … will ever know.” She paused. “And today,” Ray continued, turning to smile and wink at her, “my orbit is particularly slow.” Shelley smiled, shook her head, and went on without him.
Yahweggoth stepped forward to display his world to the symposium. Ploit had gone before, with his peaceful water world inhabited by tranquil giant tortoises; Arzz had been first with the swirling, playful planet of air beings. He sighed as he got to the mic, tapping it while he sighed. “Is this on?” Yahweggoth said, hopeful that it was not. “Oh. Okay. Well, this is Earth. I … um … I picked a firm foundation planet with a good mix of air and water.” Two coughs and one cleared throat. “And I went with kind of a monkey motif. They’re very cute and cuddly … and enterprising … some of them are really quite smart.” Silence. “And selfish,” Yahweggoth said quietly to the room, many nodding sympathetically. “And faction-based. And … warlike. Monkeys … fling a lot of poo.” He hung his head. It’s not that he wanted to start over exactly; he just wished it had been different.
“You’ll need to do something about the gray soon,” he said, gesturing to her hair. “My gray?” she replied, touching her rich brown locks self-consciously. He smiled. “Start putting some in; it’s time.” She groaned. “It takes so much effort! All of the hair stuff plus adding wrinkles and changing my makeup!” “Yes,” he replied softly, “but it’s what we do. We must be seen to age, Elsbeth, if we want to be part of this world.” She sighed. “The years go so fast.” Dracula placed an arm around her shoulders. “They do; I know,” he sighed.
From her blanket fort in the yard, Kimberly watched the neighborhood; her mom and dad watched Kimberly from the living room window. “She jots something down in her notebook every time someone does a good thing or a bad thing,” her mother said quietly. “Really?” replied her father. “When did she start carrying a notebook?” “Last week; it’s picking up speed,” the mother answered. He nodded and put his hand on his wife’s shoulder. They should probably have The Talk over the weekend – the first of many. Being a Karmaweaver was a hard thing for a kid to understand and a huge responsibility.
Harlan let himself into the house through the back, careful not to disturb the yellow tape. He felt no affection for the place itself, nor did he feel a sense of loss over the fate of his brother and the legacy now tied to the family name forever (he’d changed his name ages ago). “Ah, here we are,” Harlan whispered, opening one of the bedroom closets. He looked out of the window at the now dark and deserted Bates Motel without sentiment. Truthfully, the only thing he missed was his mother and, now that he’d collected the rest of her dresses, she could always be with him.
Falsifer wanted to tell lies; he really did. Oh, how he longed to not accept the blame when he’d done something wrong (like the other demons), or fabricate a story where he received all of the credit (also like the others). In the end, however, Falsifer just didn’t like worrying that he’d be found out or being unable to sleep in his nest of spikes near the Chasm of Doom, his stomach in knots over some random act of subterfuge. His reflection was interrupted by Spitefork asking if his new tail wrap made him look fat. “I … I …,” Falsifer started, intending to mislead, “… I … really like the other one, the blue one, better on you.” He sighed miserably afterwards, defeated.