Archive for February, 2011

2.13: 22° Halos

Posted: February 21, 2011 by lambentanodyne in Bardiel, Mage: The Awakening
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February Review 2011.02.13


Parhelion Sun Dogs, minimum deflection 22° distant. Better yet, occurrence of Liljequist parhelion. “For two hours in the morning of April 20, 1535, the skies over the city were filled with white circles and arcs crossing the sky, while additional suns appeared around the sun.”

Anthelion, parhelic circle resonant effect, “The Glory”, may be caused by two-flux interference between “short” and “long” path surface waves, which are generated by resonance entering the Node at diametrically opposite points (both fluxes suffer one internal reflection, although the “backscattered” resonance effects are likely a combination of diffraction, reflection and refraction. It’s proposed they form by two exterior flux reflections in quadrangular nodes and two interior reflections in column-shaped nodes are required to produces the phenomenon artificially). Records of the phenomenon at Mount Emei date back to A.D. 63.

Kármán Vortex Street models have some application in the fluid dynamics for a Pattern to have a repeating effect on the often swirling vortices caused by the unsteady separation of resonance from the flux over the area. The range of Re values will vary with the size and shape of the line from which the eddies are being shed, as well as with the kinematic viscosity of the flux. When a single resonance vortex is shed, an asymmetrical flow pattern (not Pattern) forms around the body and changes the emotive pressure distribution. This means that the alternate shedding of vortices can create periodic lateral influences on the area in question, causing it to oscillate. If the vortex shedding frequency is similar to the natural frequency of individuals, it causes an exceptional resonant effect. The precise mechanism is still elusive; perhaps the Threads of the Pattern hold the key? Sanctums, especially with significant Wards, may be liable also.

Project Velificatio: Something like the Rayleigh formula may be applied if it is sufficiently finely produced or Tyndall scattering if they are more akin to colloidal particles and may be mathematically analysable in terms of (modified) Mie theory. Raman spectroscopy could be used to analyze the material. The Laser Geodynamics Satellites, which provide an orbiting laser ranging benchmark for geodynamical studies of the Earth, would be ideal. Off hand, modulated retroreflectors, perhaps conversion of the Theodolite or Total Station ought to work. The non-SLR did suffice for basic LIDAR in earlier tests.

Personal Note: I’m conflicted on nllbx and prbnwbx. It has taken some time to begin reconciling with the result of the collapses. They were innocent. They were accidents. This though, I must be absolutely certain with. I will redesign the Final Failsafe.
As Candide would say, “We must cultivate our garden”. Although the irony is only apparent to me now.


Brockengespenst, a particular projection within the Astral, presented forward through the subconscious, often in three different, odd states due the personal emotional perspective. The apparent magnification of size of the Actor’s illusion that occurs is a result of when the observer judges their Actor on relatively recent occurrences to be at the same as those from much further back in their history, seen frequently through gaps in the memory, or when there are no reference points at all by which to judge its size or presence, essentially, a loss of perspective. Could significant tailored ambient resonance either add or subtract from the “signal to noise ratio” in this case?

The Heiligenschein is similar to an antisolar point effect, where the Observer will see an aureole effect radiating only from their own head’s shadow in the Play. Sylvanshine is another case of psychometrical optics. Were all the first astral psychologists of German decent or something? I blame Freud.


Reports of Noctilucent Clouds are visible within the Twilight under rare circumstances; the first known to have been observed in 1885, two years after the 1883 eruption of Krakatoa. The Belt of Venus is witnessed in the Shadow during total eclipses, apparently coinciding with Gegenschein at the L2 Earth-Sun Lagrangian point. Although possibly quite interesting, there is too little data and more suitable for a non-Obrimos, as it would need converting equipment into that State for proper observations. Side note: Subsun appears as if it were caused by sunlight reflecting from a body of water, perhaps effect Crepuscular rays, however its’ effect could cross the Gauntlet. Maybe it is metaphysical cenophobia: “horror vacui/vide dans le vide.”


2.12: Dreams of Blood

Posted: February 18, 2011 by MaskedGuardian in Mage: The Awakening, Perrin
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It never began the same way but there was always the smell of blood.  Her feet squelched through pools of scarlet congealing on the carpet.  The edges of the room were blurred.  Tendrils of shadow crept forth from the corners.  They surrounded her, testing, careful, but they never touched.  They crawled along the outside, slowly, a mass of seething darkness.  The tunnel of shadow heaved.  It was never still.  There was something underneath it all, slithering, watching.  Her skin crawled.  Fear filled the depths of her gut with ice and began to spread.  She could not bring herself to touch the shadows of the tunnel but there was no way back.  She had to follow it.

He was already dead.  They were alone.

It had not happened like this.

This is how she knew it was a dream.

Her eyelids drooped, heavy.  The tension in her back released like a spring and she sagged forward, the glass tilting in her hand.  A wet nose pressed against the palm of her other hand with an accompanying whimper.  She forced her eyelids open and caught the glass just before it emptied its contents on to the carpet.  She reached out and gave the huge dog a scratch behind the ear.

The velvet blackness and silence of the night had given way to hazy grey light signalling the encroaching dawn.  At least one bird was determined to beat the morning rush, already up and about, performing a solo.  In the gloom, she stared at her reflection.

You look awful.

Her face was drawn, pale except for the huge suitcases that had taken up residence beneath her eyes.  Her eyes were shot through with a web of angry red veins but she couldn’t see that from here.  The severity of the recently shorn hair only managed to enhance the gauntness of her face and make the angles of her cheekbones sharper.

Look at yourself.  You’re losing it.  Pull it together, Perrin.

She studied herself critically, the scars that told where she had been and what she had done, the paleness, the way her hip bones protruded just a little too much to be healthy, the fragility of it all.  Shaking her head, she put the glass to her lips and drained the last of the whiskey.  It was cheap.  It burned her throat as it slid down.  Her stomach caught fire and her thoughts muddled as she put the glass on the nightstand and slid beneath the cool cotton sheets.

The beginning was always different, except for the scent of blood that filled her nostrils.  The air shimmered like waves of heat on the horizon on a hot summer day.  These waves of heat were hazy and crimson.  Vapours of blood.  The tang of copper stained her mouth and she knew that the air was filled with his life, slowly evaporating.  He was still alive, just.  Why was nobody helping him?  Where was everybody?

They were alone.  He was dying and they were alone.

It had not been like this.

This was how she knew it was a dream.

He was so still.  His chest heaved, desperately, as he struggled for air.  The vapours of blood struggled to stay free.  A few stragglers returned to his body but after a moment they escaped and they had multiplied.  Globs of crimson spluttered from his lips as his skin turned ashen.  As she sank to her knees in the bloody carpet, scarlet seeped through her jeans and stained her skin.  It was hot.  And the smell… burnt flesh and copper.  It was the kind of scent that pressed itself indelibly in your mind.

She remembered that.

It had been like that.

This was when she forgot it was a dream.

She froze.  Panic seeped into her and her mind went blank.  He was struggling, his own blood choking him, and when his hand grabbed for her she didn’t know what to do.  There was so much blood.  She didn’t understand how a man with all his blood on the floor – in the air – could grip her hand with such strength.  His eyes met hers and they burned into her so that she could not… would not… look away.  He had a secret.  He was keeping something from her.  She did not know how she knew it but she did.  That could not happen if he did not want her to know, she thought.  And then she realised that he wanted to tell her something.  His grip pulled her closer and he wanted to talk but the words wouldn’t come out.

It had been like that.

Hadn’t it?

“It will be okay.”

He held her there.  And then she felt it.  The familiar twist in her gut as space shifted around her.  It was already too late.  The pain… it was instant, paralysing, a blaze of fire racing up her spine.  The blood welled across her shirt, steaming, mingling with his.  She collapsed onto his chest.  More blood.  And his face… his skin was transparent and his lip twisted in what might have been a smile and there was a scarlet bubble and then nothing.

“You’ll be happy there.”

She rolled onto her back.  Agony shredded through every nerve.  She did not know why she still felt the pain.  That was wrong.  She should… she thought… be dead.  Surely she should be dead but she wasn’t and her insides were burning.  She should be dead.

But it hadn’t…

It hadn’t happened like this.

This was when she remembered it was a dream.

Every fibre of her being was screaming for an end.  She gulped a desperate deep breath of air and the vapours of blood – his blood – swept into her lungs.  That was when she saw it.  The shimmering waves of blood coalescing.  As she breathed, deeper, they stayed within her.

“I promise.”

This is a dream.

She awoke, clawing the sheets, frozen for a moment as she gulped for air.  Her skin was hot and slick and the sheets soaked through.  A flash of panic welled in her gut – blood – until she threw off the sheets and the sweat evaporated on her skin leaving behind only a chill.  She reached for the glass on the nightstand, forgetting its emptiness, then cursed and knocked it across the room.

Dammit, Perrin.  You’ll wake John.

The bottle was empty as well.  She pulled on a long jumper and padded down the hallway in the dawn’s light to get a fresh bottle with a dog at her heels, past the fearsome spear laid against the wall, dried blood still encrusted on its blade.

2.11: Doors

Posted: February 14, 2011 by lambentanodyne in Bardiel, Mage: The Awakening
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The scene comes into focus, the actor’s silhouette flickers right and left as the two gunmen open fire, bullets ricocheting all about. Breathing is difficult, the pain from the wound intense. The construction site is blurring in a haze of cordite and panting breathe in the cold as the opening is reached.

“Run, Will!”

Blink, and scenes dissolves away to reveal new actors, the set replaced with a cheap checker linoleum floor and 70’s white shelving units in a countryside kitchen. An electric red votive light shines under a picture of Jesus that hangs above a doorway. Her lip is already starting to swell from the blow, tears clinging to her eyelashes as she holds back the emotion. A heavily set man is grabbed by his wrinkled shirt and thrown towards the door.

“Get the hell out of here! We’re better off without a father!”

The portrait shakes with the impact, the red light burns brighter until all that remains is the LED, which begins to blink on the computer as it runs a program. A man rushes to check his wallet is full before departing out the door. Blink and he is standing with a gun raised against his temple. A flash and all that remains is the crimson.

“He was my friend.”

Dulling now, to a rosewood shade, staining the cream white suit of a man slumped against a concrete wall. Years of unwavering service have led him here. The sound of rain outside, rattling the rusted corrugated iron somewhere unseen. It does not enter the cell, it does not wash away the stains inside. A note with a list of names is slid under the door. The first two are crossed out.

“Maybe I’ll ask him.”

The paper is covered in text. The newspaper is folded under the arm of a man in a khaki jacket. Beside him, another actor holds a small potted plant. They turn and walk out the door, the light outside engulfing them both. The sounds of fans whirr in the silence.

“This isn’t going anywhere.”

The monitor tones continuously. Her lip isn’t swollen now, but the tears remain at the edges of the eyes. A nurse approaches through the entranceway. An actress lays motionless in hospital bed, while the other lurches a few times until breaking down. The bed shakes, the monitor blips for a second. A stomach twists and the tone returns.

“Five die in collapses.”

2.10: Wanted, 1 Guardian

Posted: February 14, 2011 by MaskedGuardian in Mage: The Awakening, Perrin
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“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

The parade of strangers passed by her slowly.  She stood, uncomfortable in too-tight black patent shoes, itchy black woollen dress and tights, desperate to get away.  Her grandmother hadn’t let her wear black to her parent’s funeral.  She had said that the colour was inappropriate for children.  Children… she had protested that.  She was almost fourteen.  She wasn’t a child anymore.

Her grandmother wasn’t here to complain now.

She had found her in her bed on Tuesday morning.



She shook her head to clear it of the images.  Blinking the tears from her eyes, she straightened up her shoulders and faced the next mourner in the line.  She was the last one of her family left.  She didn’t want to let them see her cry.  She just wasn’t certain if she could keep up the veneer of strength for much longer.

“I was so sorry to hear about what happened…”

The handsome man took her hand in both of his and pressed it firmly, looking straight into her eyes and smiling gently.  His hands were… warm… comforting. He met her reddened eyes without fear of the pain he would find within them and there was sympathy there, but no pity.  His gaze just made her feel… calm… as if she was with a great friend and had nothing to worry about.  She knew him – or at least it certainly felt like that.  Did she?  She tried to think.  Where had she met this man before?

He reminded her, she thought, of a man that James had introduced her to when he had first taken her to services.  What had his name been?  She was sure James had said but she couldn’t recall it now.  That man had been handsome too, as handsome as this man, but when she tried to remember his features it just evoked images of Cary Grant and Clark Gable and Bogart and all the other beautiful movie stars her grandmother had loved.

The handsome stranger… no, she knew him, she was certain… let go of her hand.  The pain came flooding back through her heart so suddenly she thought it might stop.  She gasped, a wall of emotion slamming through the calm that the stranger had evoked, so much, too much, so that she wanted to grasp his hand again.  He turned away just as her fingers flexed, her hand reaching out for nothing.  She winced.  This time she could not stop the hot tears from welling up in her eyes and spilling over.  She had to get away from this, all the spouted platitudes and pitying looks.  The handsome man was talking to the next lady in line, distracting her, and he blocked the path of the others there to offer their condolences.  He turned his head slightly and nodded at her – as if he both knew what she was planning and approved of it – in on the plan and even helping her with it.

She slipped off into the crowd, wandered, until she found herself sitting on the cold marble floor behind her grandmother’s coffin, hot forehead resting against the smooth polished wood.  As the sounds of the mourners in the church started to die down – after all, without the orphan there was nobody to pay respects to – the echo of her huge gulping sobs began to ring around the ornate building.  She tried to stifle them, stuffing her hand against her mouth desperately, but they were free now and pushing them back down was impossible.

When the familiar arm of James slipped around her shoulders, comforting, holding her against him, she could only sob more and cling to him.

“It’ll be okay, Bunny.  I promise.  I’ll be here for you as long as you need it,” he said finally as she managed to get some control of herself, “We can run away.  You and me.  I can take care of you.  I won’t let them take you.”

“Wh… wh… who?”

“The social services people.  They’re waiting for you.  But we can go out the side door now and they’ll never…”

“No.  No, James.  We can’t.  You… you’d better leave.  I have… to do this.”

He nodded and didn’t argue.  He knew her well enough by now to recognise the stubborn set to her jaw that indicated she wouldn’t easily change her mind.  Instead he stood silently, reaching out a hand to help her up before walking down the central aisle of the church and leaving her behind.  She smoothed out the wrinkles in her woollen dress and pulled a crumpled tissue from up her sleeve.  She gave her face a half-hearted wipe.

There were only three people left in the church.  They stood at the entranceway.  One woman, blonde hair pulled in to a neat ponytail, wearing a conservative navy-blue suit and a severe look on her face.  Her companion was a plain looking man with an equally unhappy look upon his face and they were both deep in hushed discussion with the handsome stranger.  She couldn’t hear what they were saying.  The woman looked angrier as the conversation continued, glancing at her from time to time.  But then she nodded, and smiled, and seemed to relax a little, the anger leeching from her face.  The handsome stranger produced a folder of papers and handed them over.  The woman didn’t even look at them but she shook the stranger’s hand before her and her companion left without another glance at the teenager in the aisle.  The handsome stranger waited as she walked down the aisle and came to a stop a few feet away from him.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Edgar Lifton.  I am your court appointed guardian.  I’m here to take you home.”

“You… you’re going to let me go home?”

He shook his head and for a moment she thought she saw the sympathy in his eyes flicker towards pity.  “No.  Your old home is… gone now.  I’m here to take you to your new home.”

“But… I… please…”

“It will be okay.  You’ll be happy there.  I promise.”

She believed him.

His promise was given with simple… honesty.

He took her hand again and he smiled and her heart felt… calm… again and for the first time all day she understood the… peace… in the silence of the church.

2.09: Ásví’s Letter

Posted: February 12, 2011 by devy in Asvi, Mage: The Awakening
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Hi Bardiel,
I hope this finds you well, so many are not feeling all that good these days, and no surprise with what’s been happening! Makes me wonder what is next on our path!…
Oh but I was meant to come to the consilium meeting on Tuesday, but I did not, I do not know if you were there.
But do let me get straight onto the subject, why, I should not keep you reading and reading, and oh my letter is getting messy! But look at me again, getting distracted!
Something terrible happened, I thought I’d tell you, being my mentor since the beginning, who else am I to say it to. Oh but maybe Bradan, but then he’s busy, with all the things happening!
I had a dream, but what a generic term it is, it was hardly a dream, it was a nightmare, or a vision, or some obfuscated reality masked as a dream, oh I don’t know what the scientific term is!
But it happened on Monday night, I was going to bed, oh but it’s not in my style to be telling all this, but I feel I have to. Look at my hands trembling even now! As I remember that awful night!… You probably wonder if I am OK, but of course I am,  oh I did have a gin or two, but don’t you think I am drunk! It’s not my style at all to be drinking to get drunk! I just took a sip to calm my nerves, and oh to stop the shaking.
But let me just compose myself, I don’t want to be wasting your time, oh look at me again, rambling on like that. But that’s exactly what I am doing!
Oh but here, I will tell you what happened. I was in bed, my eyes were closed. I was thinking about things, you know the usual, what happened to our city and why and John missing, though I didn’t know him, but Perrin, a Guardian being drunk, oh how odd and frightening it is! What drove her to that… Oh but it has nothing to do with what happened. And then, when I thought I was asleep, I had this dream, as if the room went deathly cold, and something stood in front of me. Oh it had a shape of a human, but it was blurry and like a shadow! You must think I am drunk and seeing things, but don’t you think of me like that! And so it stood there, I could feel it’s cold breath on my cheek. And as if it was trying to tell me something. Oh I was scared, I was terrified! And why would I not be! And then, the room was dark, oh the aura has changed, things were not like they were before! It was filled with darkness and rotten smell. Oh I tried to scream, I tried to move, but I could not, as if held down by some invisible force! Oh I was scared, my hands were trembling, my heart was racing! And it walked around the room and then came back to me again, and I swear it looked at me and tried to say something. And then just vanished, as quickly at it appeared!
Oh but then I got off the bed, and I was shaking, just went over to my cupboard and had a gin or two, oh but I was not drunk! It was just to calm my nerves! And then I sat down to compose this to you, to tell you about it at all.
Oh look at me spilling tea on this letter now, how messy of me!
Do you think, Bardiel, do you think someone is trying to get to me? Someone… who may not be here, but is there?… Do you think it’s possible?
I am going to run now, I have taken much of your time already, but do let me finish this, maybe you will get ideas, being more experienced and that!

2.08 A Night Off

Posted: February 12, 2011 by neilcamcork in Mage: The Awakening, Michael
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Michael sat down.

He liked his new life. The world was a better, brighter place, now. It was also much darker than he had ever realised. He thought of his old life often, who he had been, the hurt he had caused. He understood now that he had added to that darkness. He had a mission now – to bring the Light of Truth to the world, to make it ready for the time when everyone’s eyes would open.

It had been about six months since the day he had first seen the Truth. The day he had been stabbed. His old life was now behind him, abandoned. Everything about it was gone – shed the way a snake got rid of its skin. He had a new name now, a better name. It fitted in a way the old name never had. He rarely even thought of himself as that person anymore.

He had spent the time since his eyes had opened to the true world training and learning, wanting to shove everything he could into his thick skull. His teachers had decided had he had been training too hard and needed some time to unwind. They had sent him off for a night of fun on the town.

He sat in the bar, wondering what he should do. It was the type of place he would never have been seen in before – very upmarket, swanky even. It was so long since he had been out that he was nervous.

He looked around the bar. It was filled with twenty somethings enjoying their new affluence. He reached out with his new senses, focusing on his newly acquired skill in Life. He saw a man helping a woman up from where she was sitting. On the surface of it, she was very drunk, but…

He looked closer. She was drugged. That cunt must have slipped something into her drink. As they were passing near his table, he sent out a blast of air at their feet, tripping them up. Michael jumped off his seat and went to help the girl up, focusing his Art as he gripped her arm to clear her system of the drug.

“Are you okay?” he asked the girl. “I think you may have had one too many.”

She stood up, looking confused and a little alarmed. “Uh, thanks, yeah.” She turned to look at the other man, “Pete, I’m not feeling so great; I’m going to head home… Maybe I’ll call you some time…”

She headed towards the door. The man, Pete, was following her, saying that he’d walk her to the taxi rank. Michael stayed close behind them. When they got to the door, Michael used his understanding of Forces to whisper in Pete’s ear: “I know that you drugged her.”

Pete stopped, shocked, allowing the girl to escape. Michael stepped up behind him, grabbing him by the arm. “Hey Pete, maybe we should go somewhere else and talk about your drinking habits”, Michael said, smiling, as he lead Pete through the door. He could see that the girl had gone left, towards the taxi rank, so he went right.

“What the fuck, man”, Pete said as he tried to get away, but he couldn’t shift the mass of muscle that was Michael. Michael dragged him down an alley and shoved him against the wall. “What the fuck”, Pete said again, this time more panicked. Michael shoved him to the ground.

“I saw what you tried to do”, Michael said quietly, “and I’m going to teach you a lesson so that you never try it again.”

He didn’t need magic for this. This piece of shit wasn’t worth it. He didn’t deserve to feel the power of Heaven, even in punishment. This was going to be pure physical punishment. Michael started beating the cretin. He kept an eye on Pete’s vital signs to make sure he didn’t kill the shit. He beat him carefully; causing the most pain he could to enforce the lesson. When Pete faded into unconsciousness, he reached into his pocket and took out his wallet. He read Pete’s address from the magnetic strips of his cards and then healed the bastard back to consciousness by slapping him across the face a few times. He threw the wallet onto Pete’s chest and said, “I know who you are now, Pete. I know where you live. If I ever even think that you are pulling this shit again, I will visit you in the night and murder you as slowly as I can.”

Michael kicked him once more for good measure and then walked out of the alley. He looked around to see if anyone had spotted what had just happened and spotted Onyx leaning against a wall nearby, smoking a cigarette.

Michael walked over to him and said, in a dejected tone, “I am sorry, teacher. Tonight I started a fight with a Sleeper and left him bleeding on the ground”.

Onyx took a long drag on the cigarette. “I saw what happened, kid. You intervened, because you saw something bad was about to happen. You took care of it and you took care not to risk the Veil. You could have ripped that guy apart with magic. Hell, you could have even not gotten involved at all and let them walk out of there. But, you did get involved. You saw that something was not right and you fixed it. You have nothing to be sorry about.”

Michael looked up, meeting Onyx’s eyes for the first time. “You’re not angry?”

“No, kid, I’m proud of you”, Onyx said with a rare smile. “Tell me, what do you think of the Arrows…?”

2.07: Remember?

Posted: February 11, 2011 by devy in Asvi, Mage: The Awakening
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Remember, always remember,
Always remember and never forget.

Snow, white blinding snow. Was it glowing? Why did it seem like there was a green glowing tint to it? It seemed so for only a second, but was as real as you and me. Oh, what an accusation to make! “Real”, what is real and what is not!

Remember, remember that day? Cold was biting passer-by’s cheeks, cars reluctantly warming up their engines… and the fields, white, pure, innocent fields, and foot steps. A trail of lonely foot steps in no direction, just forward till the nearest obstruction and then back. They were forming a maze.

Remember tension? Clutching fists until the knuckles matched snow: white, pure and cold. Swollen eyes and frozen bright red cheeks? It was just a dream, nothing more, nothing less. And yet, the effect was unlike any other. It was always there. Aren’t people meant to forget their dreams? Dreams are not meant to lurk around, feed into thoughts, reflect in bowls of soup, follow up and down the stairs and worst of all – hide. Dreams are not meant to be so realistic. Dreams are meant to be just fiction, a summary of day’s work.

She slowly opened the door to veranda. He was sitting in the rocking chair, as usual, reading the latest issue of his favorite Australian Literature Journal, also as usual. One hand holding a cup of dark, like Malevich’s famous square, coffee. It was probably too cold to drink without disgust. But he still sipped at it, as if it was burning his lips.

She sat in the wicker chair, shaking snow off her shoes and watching it form puddles on the oak floor. Silence. Smell of cinnamon buns crawling around the corner from the kitchen and cautiously lurking in the room. Just another February day. As she reached to get Kafka (she decided to read his work ever since her dad briefly mentioned him, she was told she’s too young to understand or follow, that was enough to spark stubbornness and spite to prove everyone wrong). He said, without lifting his head away from the journal or looking at her over his reading glasses as he usually would,

“Could you pass me the phone just for a moment, I need to make a phone call?”

She did. She also left the room. It felt like her presence would be a burden, unlike the usual when he’d chatter on to the college professors about everything form literature to “what a high price we’re paying for fruit and veg these days!”. It felt cold. Much colder than a few seconds ago.

She went to her room, aimlessly lifted and placed back several containers with pencils, shuffled around sheets of paper. Her mind was wondering what kind of phone call did he have to make that her presence was so unwanted. Her parents always included her into any business, be it family or work.

Remember how silence was growing, it’s fat fluffy hands shutting your ears and awkwardly pressing on your head? Remember, it was still bright, the snow was melting. Remember?

As if shaken by some invisible hand, she opened her eyes. All this time she was standing in the center of the room.

Remember the darkness? How it spread everywhere and the bright flash.. and then nothing? Remember how Something tried to speak… Something almost human-shaped? And silence. And loud shriek. And silence again.

She ran downstairs,

“Daddy!”, whispering at first, and then, shrieking (Remember?…),

“DADDY!!!”, as she threw the veranda doors open, banging them against the walls.

He was sitting in the rocking chair, as usual. The latest issue of his favorite Australian Literature Journal was on the floor, underneath his hand… that was hanging as a wet towel off a hook. The other hand on his chest. The black goo that was meant to be coffee spilt on the floor, merging with the water from her shoes, osmosis…

Remember, always remember,
Always remember and never forget.