Without Her; My Sister's Sleep
Who: Fujimiya Aya and Nobody Owens
What: A meeting-- and a mission.
Where: The library, for a start
When: After work, Friday, January 29. Probably around 5:30pm
Status: Closed, incomplete
It had been an early work day, which was fine, although going to sleep earlier wasn't always possible. But for one day, it wasn't a big deal. He was fairly a professional at being sleep-deprived. But during his two hours of rest-- in the living-room recliner, for some odd reason-- he'd had a dream, and it wasn't one of Crypt's patented originals. He was getting used to the feel of those particular dreams. No, this was more like a message. He saw a monument, an angel statue beneath the low-hanging fronds of a tree in the Cemetery. And he saw the doe-eyes of a beautiful ghost that couldn't have been any older than Bod when she died.
They might have talked, he couldn't remember. All he remembered, upon waking, was the sense that she'd wanted something... and the word 'Dante.' And then he'd looked at the book in his lap- a book of poems. And then he understood, or reasoned that he might: she wanted something from the land of the living, a poem, and she reached out to him. It had been a long time since he'd gotten a message from a ghost, even if it was just a figment of his imagination. But it didn't feel like it.
And he was virtually proven right when he went to the library that evening; there were hundreds of volumes of poetry in the library, but the one that he needed was tugged out on the shelf, enough to catch his attention. There were hundreds of poems in the book, but the ones that he needed were marked with small strips of what looked like lace, but turned out to be nothing but paper. He knew they were the right ones; they felt familiar, like he'd heard them before.
He could have photocopied the pages, but he decided to write them out instead. This little Victorian-era ghost would appreciate the time he spent-- and his formal handwriting. It took some time, though, and the sun was nearly down by the time he finished. Hmm... not much time. I better get moving!
What: A meeting-- and a mission.
Where: The library, for a start
When: After work, Friday, January 29. Probably around 5:30pm
Status: Closed, incomplete
It had been an early work day, which was fine, although going to sleep earlier wasn't always possible. But for one day, it wasn't a big deal. He was fairly a professional at being sleep-deprived. But during his two hours of rest-- in the living-room recliner, for some odd reason-- he'd had a dream, and it wasn't one of Crypt's patented originals. He was getting used to the feel of those particular dreams. No, this was more like a message. He saw a monument, an angel statue beneath the low-hanging fronds of a tree in the Cemetery. And he saw the doe-eyes of a beautiful ghost that couldn't have been any older than Bod when she died.
They might have talked, he couldn't remember. All he remembered, upon waking, was the sense that she'd wanted something... and the word 'Dante.' And then he'd looked at the book in his lap- a book of poems. And then he understood, or reasoned that he might: she wanted something from the land of the living, a poem, and she reached out to him. It had been a long time since he'd gotten a message from a ghost, even if it was just a figment of his imagination. But it didn't feel like it.
And he was virtually proven right when he went to the library that evening; there were hundreds of volumes of poetry in the library, but the one that he needed was tugged out on the shelf, enough to catch his attention. There were hundreds of poems in the book, but the ones that he needed were marked with small strips of what looked like lace, but turned out to be nothing but paper. He knew they were the right ones; they felt familiar, like he'd heard them before.
He could have photocopied the pages, but he decided to write them out instead. This little Victorian-era ghost would appreciate the time he spent-- and his formal handwriting. It took some time, though, and the sun was nearly down by the time he finished. Hmm... not much time. I better get moving!