The Slime (pt3)

The next day the slime slid down from the roof and landed in a pile in front of their doorstep. It slid under the door and into the house. They were eating breakfast and they choked as they saw it coming toward them.

When someone called in, because they hadn’t come into work for a few days, they found the body. Choked on breakfast, one of the doctors said. Strange, but it had been known to happen. There was nothing fishy about it at all.

The next day, slime slid down from the roof and landed in a pile in front of the doorstep of the doctor.

Spears (pt9)

Azzah brought the bowl to her lips holding it with both hands. “I think this is my favorite.”

“Hm.” Reem took a big gulp herself, belying her previous words. “Then enjoy it while it lasts, little sister. She said it will only be for a little longer.”

“I think you should make up for your less enjoyed drink with something else.” Azzah hooked her free arm with Reem’s. She grinned at Waseme, who knew exactly what Azzah referred to. With a shake of her head, Waseme went back to pouring another bowl. Whether for someone else or in preparation for them coming back, Azzah never knew.

Reem hadn’t missed their look. Reem was a sharp one. Azzah might have sat them both down in front of Waseme’s hut to start their evening, as they always did, but she had to know what Azzah would push her toward. It was hard to miss Lebna. His skin was lighter than most, though just as rough from work fishing, hunting, sowing and gathering as the others. His locs were thick, bound only with coloured thread.

“What’s this?” The moment Reem noticed Lebna, her eyes caught. “Well?” she asked Azzah, pretending not to know.

“He’s still up.” Azzah took another sip. “You should go speak with him.”

“I should go speak with him?” Reem repeated, not doing much more than pressing her lips against her bowl.

Azzah laughed. “Come on now! You aren’t fooling anyone, especially not me.”

“Oh, Azz, how could I ever fool you?”

Spears (pt8)

Hirka was not large, but it could always be described as lively. Even at this time of evening, when Azzah and Reem were free from their duties until the next day. Many others had come back into town, done with their day of hard work and ready for relaxation or festivities.

Azzah liked this better. Until recently, she and Reem had held the night shift. Azzah hoped that Daudi and Lulu would enjoy the night air enough that the Lel’ul would be pleased with retaining this arrangement. It was nice not having to forgo sleep to see more people. She knew Reem liked it too, though more for once particular person’s company than anything else.

“What’s in the bowls tonight?” Reem asked Waseme. The woman began to pour out drink the moment she saw them approach. It was like this every night, right in front of Waseme’s hut.

She held them out with hands roughened by her years of serving the bowls in the exact same way. Reem and Azzah grabbed them at the same time. “Same as yesterday. It’s not quite the time for next season’s drink, Reem. Hold steady for a little longer.”

“Ah, well I can always ask.”

Waseme chuckled, dark grey eyes sparkling from the light of the evening meal fires. “Asking won’t make a lick of difference, you know.”

The Slime (pt2)

The next day the slime slid down from the roof and landed in a pile in front of their doorstep. This time it was in the morning. They were dressed and ready for work. They stepped outside and saw that it was so much more than it had been the previous evening. The mound was almost as tall as they were.

Part of it moved and they were certain they saw a face in it. The mouth looked like a toothless grin that was big enough to swallow their head.

Wisely, they took a step back and closed the door. They decided to call pest control. Not because they thought it was a pest or that someone else would actually know what to do with it, but because they didn’t know who else to call and they wanted someone to come and see what it was before they thought they had gone crazy.

It was hard to make up something that would get someone to come quickly, but they managed. The pest control came, searched, and didn’t come up with anything. Shaken, but starting to wonder about themselves, they went to work. As long as it wasn’t there when they came back. That was all. As long as it wasn’t there anymore.

When they got back from work, there was nothing there. They grabbed a ladder and checked their roof. There was nothing there. Nothing to roll off right there again. It had to have been their imagination. Maybe they were tired? Maybe they needed a vacation.

Spears (pt7)

Lulu and Daudi wished them a good night and the two women left their replacements and the strange house behind. The house which had a design from a foreign land, brought to this place long before any of them had ever come to protect it. A house none of them had ever seen inside, the Lel’ul’s private residence. One they protected even when no one was home. One they would continue to protect for as long as he asked them to. It stood there upon the slight rise, looking down upon the rest of Hirka. A place easily defended by two warriors worth any mettle. A place that had never been attacked.

Azzah would continue to wonder why warriors as good as she and Reem had to protect such a place while the Lel’ul was not there. There was so much else going on in the land, trouble makers that she and Reem could easily dispatch, animal attacks they could win singlehandedly… and they had to stay here.

Nothing out there could beat the both of them. Not when they were serious. And when it came to fights, they always were.

“Ready for a drink?” Reem rubbed at the back of Azzah’s neck. Azzah stretched out her body, not sore or tense, yet somehow stiff. Stiff from not doing enough, perhaps.

“Yes.”

Imagination means

Inspiration
Inward reflection of perception
Inspired formation of narration
Ideal temptation for creation
Incarnation of innovation

Memory
Meaningful sensory of every
Mastered reverie in summary
Measured energy to treasury
Memories so exemplary

Awareness
Affluent fairness in nearness
Accepting
Gifts
Generating grievous convenience
Genius

Ingenuity
Interested discontinuity in perpetuity
Inside ambiguity of gratuity
Impatient unity done beautifully
Impunity from incongruity

Notions
Nearing devotions of oceans
Nimble motions of emotions
Needing commotions where spoken
Nonremotion is golden

Analogy
Ambassador for tragedy
Amnesty
Taking
Treating aught for naught
Thought

Invent
I circumvent my malcontent
In assent and present
Internal prevent of torment
Intent to consent

Originality
Optional duality
Optimality
Normality
Nudging my quality
Novelty

Imagination
Means
All
Gain,
Inserted
Nigh
Any
Time,
I
Own
Naturally everything

When you have better laid plans

Sometimes I think about what it would be like if I could possibly do something that didn’t rely so heavily on other people.

(No offense, other people, you can be great, but at the same time I’m a bit tired today.)

I have a mind that goes back and forth between blaming myself for something and recognizing that yes, actually it is my fault, because even though it is someone else’s fault I should have figured out a way around it. And as self deprecating as that might seem, it is true. If you want to get something done, sometimes you just have to work out around a person. It might require going through other people, but at least you are making progress. Searching for solutions.

This is what I feel like with myself, just in Writing.

Like parts of me are different people. If the Writer in me doesn’t show up today, well. What to do? Editor has to Write, I suppose. Or the Gamer gets to Write. I feel like I have Written about this before, but it doesn’t stop it from being just as important.

Now if only all these parts of me would get their act together. The Writer doesn’t like showing up. The Editor does a lot more work than everyone. The Gamer would, of course, rather be gaming at all times, just like the Reader wants to read. The Musician shares too many traits with the Outliner and the Editor.

I would like to say these are all one person. They are all me. And that is true. Even when it doesn’t feel like it. It’s not multiple personalities. It is multiple sections of my psyche though, in a way. The impulses of what one wants to do, which can be curbed one way or another.

Yet I want to be an Author, which requires the Writer to do their job. Or, failing that, that someone else does the Writer’s job. Like the Editor.

Time to be grateful that my Editor always shows up.