#i hate urban sprawl with a passion

[earthly-ali3n]

say what you want about gen alpha and what you say is probably true, but they’re trying man. My next door neighbour’s oldest boy wants to be outside all the time. he’ll come outside just to watch me cut the grass in my backyard because his house is a duplex that took up the whole lot so he doesn’t have one. we’re six blocks from the nearest “park” (if you can call it that) and he’s eight years old, he can’t go alone and both his parents work full time to pay for the house that is too big for the lot but still too small for the family. My roommates and I spent extra time outside this summer teaching him and his younger siblings to play beanbag toss or frisbee or whatever because he literally doesn’t have room in his backyard to do those things. We only have the space because our house is the only one on the block that wasn’t demolished, turned into a duplex, and sold for 3x it’s worth. He starts every my sentence with “So guess what?” because he’s so excited to have someone listen to him talk. He can’t play street hockey or basket ball in his drive way because he doesn’t have one of those either. And our street is on a slope, at the bottom of that slope is a main road with heavy traffic, so even tho cars barely drive down our street, he and his friends still can’t play basket ball or road hockey in the street because the ball or puck is gonna roll down the slope and onto the main road. it would be a disaster waiting to happen. His parents are tying too, but there’s only so much you can do when both you and your partner work full time, but it still isn’t enough to get out of the city so your kid has room to run. They limit tv time, they don’t allow their kids to watch youtube at ALL. They got their kids a cat. They got their kids bikes that they ride to the park when they’re able to supervise. It’s maximum effort with so little reward because no matter how much stuff you have it’s can’t make up for the lack of time and space. Kids NEED time and space and the demands of capitalism make it impossible for parents to give that to their children.

[kneipho]

Submission: @mantrabay​

--

A Little Known Shortcut.

Wandering the roads. It has me under a spell.

Even when prickly brambles

scrape my eyelids or those bony ankles are being twisted by tooth like stones. The angular sort clustered mischievously among the green shoots that litter every footpath.

They lie in wait, in ambush.

It goes with the territory for this seasoned footman.

Meandering landscapes are house and home to the spiral lanes and clover clad hills that are rife in my area.

Their rustic heritage sometimes sacrificed to the orphanage of malleable motives.

Crop farmers obsessed with bountiful harvest.

A restless developer pushing the limits of an urban jungle.

Fellow traveller in league with fugitives from the cockpit.

The pressure cooker of modern life.

The town dweller with split loyalties who clings to the tumult of the city but hankers after some rural idyll.

Culprits one and all.

A lair from the hubbub.

Dwellings of the quaintest kind huddle together like dots in a matrix separated only by a minuscule space.

The more alluring aspects of tradition have been preserved.

Among these are shortcuts or bypasses.

Those sequestered passages that shave miles off for the perennial rambler or clueless hitchhiker.

The eye becomes a lense to all these

things hidden or supposedly hidden.

Human vision as sensor to magic trails.

Those tucked away secret spots beloved of local wiseacres.

They festoon the sprawling countryside at random.

My name is Eric Spring.

Anthea, my partner a transcendental meditation teacher retired early at an early age.

Her withdrawal from work was never meant to be permanent.

A final decision hinged on Anthea’s ability to purge that fiendish veil of sadness that had been shadowing her.

There were several obstacles in her path but they weren’t insurmountable.

Thoughts of Anthea in her halcyon days haunted me.

Mental pictures of a vibrant woman imbued with passion.

Poignant evocative heart-tugging images.

Bar excursions into town my station is that of Anthea’s carer.

This eternally stoic woman is mindful of her mental boundaries and the abyss concealed by each of them.

But she is not prone to self-hate or abuse. The more lethal plagues of the psyche hadn’t yet impacted on her.

Anthea was groping for exits but hadn’t found the signs.

She remains housebound as I embark on those age defying treks into town.

We keep in touch by mobile phone.

A very angelic sensitive looking person is she.

Reminiscent of a Sunday Times editor.

The accent filters every noun and stresses every nuance.

Like the sounds from an early morning orchard.

Anthea’s job became monotonous and her other pursuits painting and writing fled without trace.

A budding artist’s most dreaded syndromes struck.

Writer’s block. Artistic vacuum.

The wellspring of her imagination now devoid of those inspiring flashes that sustain creative impulse.

She had few outlets bar my care and a lady called Fidelma who had the edge on me with regard to local knowledge. I longed to hear Anthea’s voice on my device.

Her hypnotic voice bridges gaps.

You feel close even when speaking to her from a distance.

I love the walks and savouring all those pivot points of folklore.

I pride myself on my intimate knowledge of every branch strewn rivulet, stream and layered rock formation.

My links to the environment are almost erotic as I crave it’s sensual touch.

At times I enter a tranquil zone where the shutters are drawn.

Just myself and all those habitats.

“Hello Eric? Lost in thought again.

How is anthea these days?

I spoke to her over the phone a few days ago.

I sometimes drop in on her when you are out.”

Fidelma speaking with that chirping red robin voice of hers.

She had this penchant for suddenly appearing like an archaeological site.

And she vanished just as quickly leaving the person she spoke to scrambling to process her asides and insights before they disappeared.

Neighbour, friend, root and branch archivist whose grasp of detail was legendary.

“She seems to be coping.” I said.

“Glad to hear that. Maybe I can pay a flying visit some time soon.

But aren’t you a foolish man to be imposing all those Olympic Marathons on yourself?”

Fidelma about to share one of her treasured nuggets.

“I love walking but any tips?”

Spring enquired naively as events soon demonstrated.

“There’s a shortcut…..a little known shortcut.

People in the know recommend it though I have never actually used it myself.

Maybe I will one day.

See, it’s on the right hand side up the road there.

Think it might be useful when you want to get home in a hurry.” She concluded.

Fidelma in advanced middle age was still sprightly and youthful in her ways.

I missed a text from anthea and Fidelma noticed.

“Yes. I have one of those gadgets too.

Keeps me connected.

Took me awhile to master it.

Wish there was a shortcut for that.

But I’ll best be on my way.

Take good care whatever the route.”

As always having spoken to Fidelma I wondered about in a trance.

Another colourful aspect of Fidelma’s personality was her “Banana Skin Syndrome.”

She could lose her balance betimes when enthusing about a topic or when she stumbled on an area that fascinated her.

The feet were a little wobbly.

All this against her philosophy about how interconnected everything is.

The mind is an antenna sending out signals to others was a frequent broadside of hers.

Even when Fidelma said very little she always had this magnetic effect on others.

Those terse one liners could trigger an avalanche in the mind.

Her thin phrases were always shrouded in a well crafted poetic meter.

It was in the tone, gestures and body language.

Those beady yet expressive eyes scanning her environment like a radar screen.

A cascade of images and sound bytes ensued when she left.

Several hours passed as my mind was in overdrive like a central processing unit.

I heard this inner voice telling me to explore this “shortcut.”

Having texted Anthea I then proceeded to this offshoot of a lane.

It was going to lighten the journey of this slope and pavement plodder.

Off I went down this quaint country shortcut.

Nothing out of the ordinary to begin with until Anthea rang.

“Gnawing feeling of sadness.

My mind is a dark blue canvass at the moment.”

Her lilting twang mingling with the song birds at the start of my downward journey.

I sensed this was urgent and started to walk quickly.

That’s when problems arose.

Just a plain country passage with a primarily flat surface at this point.

There were houses on each side and some weeds strewn and partially mangled, turned to mulch by wild and indiscriminate boots.

Strange feelings welled up within me as I felt like a geyser at yellowstone.

The puff and splutter of tractors in nearby fields as furrows, the epicenter of future yields were turned.

Scarecrows were strategically perched in the meadow behind the right hand hedge to ward off some menace or other.

Something told me to relate my surroundings to Anthea.

If only to divert attention from an impending gloom.

Those barely audible inner prompts again.

“Eric, I don’t want to pressurise you but at the moment I feel this dark cloud.”

Eric paused.

It then occurred to me that I was engulfed by dark foreboding clouds in tandem with a rising rainbow like haze.

As Anthea continued her disorders seemed to be complemented by external threats of rain intermingled with sunshine.

“I feel, Eric there is a radiance trying to break through.

Just to see you … your presence is a light which I could focus on.”

Then I realised that speed was of the essence.

That’s when I could have panicked.

Anthea’s voice seemed louder, but also more lyrical as I realised this obscure

overlooked route could have done with some restoration!

Tufts of grass oozing slime.

Mounds of mud with pockets of oil stained water.

The briars were a shock team that endangered every part of the human body.

I was conveying all this to anthea as I was trying to dash at my normal pace.

Oddly Anthea’s tone of desperation started to dip.

But she did appear less tense as I told her this story over the phone.

“Someone told me this is a shortcut.”

Eric said gingerly.

“Who was that ? Anthea asked.

“Fidelma. We met on the main road just a short while ago.” I responded.

“You know her a bit better than I do.”

Anthea observed. “She’s going to call over one of these days I’m sure.”

By now Anthea, initially nervous was mellowing as I continued with my frantic running … and staggering commentary!

She didn’t have had much to excite her over the last five years.

But I had to be careful lest those dark brooding phases returned.

Like a roving reporter I regaled her with lurid descriptions of limp green shrubs, tea brown leaves shredded on fissured rocks, juice dripping blackberry bushes with foraging earwigs seeking shelter from the sun.

But here I was almost knee deep in tangled foliage while keeping the love of my life up to speed!

The labyrinthine outcrops and mock craters were all included.

Suddenly misfortune struck without warning.

I nearly sprained my leg as I fell face down on a grassy patch.

Sprawled awkwardly across this surface my phone went flying but I managed to catch it.

“Eric, are you ok?

I don’t mean to be a burden.

Will I get someone to meet you at the end of this lane or short cut.”

Anthea again.

“I’m fine, Anthea.”

Eric said before slowly rising.

I kept detailing my observations and Anthea was reacting positively.

But I made it eventually with the sounds of the road as guide.

The temperatures continued to rise causing perspiration.

Peering thru the maze of entwined growths I saw … Fidelma.

“Where did you spring from?” Eric punning his own name.

“Fidelma …you fell too.” A question that might have appeared tactless.

She was getting up, having fallen when taking her bearings it seems.

“Fidelma …. thanks but no thanks.

The shortcut.” I said.

“You are shivering.” She observed.

“I am. Spring responded.

“Got to get to Anthea because she might be in need of help.” Spring continued.

We both headed for my house as quickly as possible.

But it wasn’t far.

I texted Anthea and she answered by saying she had every reason to speak to me.

One wondered what that might be.

My face whitened.

Fidelma and I soon reached the house where I lived.

Eric pressed the doorbell as his heart pounded.

The door opened suddenly and we couldn’t believe what we saw.

“Anthea, is that you?

I haven’t seen you smile like that in years.”

I said.

Fidelma and I were perplexed to say the least.

“It’s early days yet but those locusts of darkness hopping around in my head maybe dwindling.

Those creative juices returned when I sensed your anxiety down the lane because I didn’t want two sick people in this house.

But you brought splashes of vivid colour into my drawing room.

I could almost smell the rustic fragrance of every wilting petal and the creaking of every twig.

You set a whole cycle in train.”

Anthea then showed me two items she was working on.

“I have started a rough sketch of the lane you detailed and a short story.

There’s been a sea change.” She said.

“Oh I wonder what I’ll call this sketch and that short story?

Any ideas?” Anthea enquired.

Fidelma and I looked at each other and spoke almost in unison.

“I think we both have a fair idea what they both might be called.

Your story included.”

A little known shortcut indeed!

Photograph and short story mantrabay copyright protected

[mantrabay]

A Little Known Shortcut.

Wandering the roads. It has me under a spell.

Even when prickly brambles

scrape my eyelids or those bony ankles are being twisted by tooth like stones. The angular sort clustered mischievously among the green shoots that litter every footpath.

They lie in wait, in ambush.

It goes with the territory for this seasoned footman.

Meandering landscapes are house and home to the spiral lanes and clover clad hills that are rife in my area.

Their rustic heritage sometimes sacrificed to the orphanage of malleable motives.

Crop farmers obsessed with bountiful harvest.

A restless developer pushing the limits of an urban jungle.

Fellow traveller in league with fugitives from the cockpit.

The pressure cooker of modern life.

The town dweller with split loyalties who clings to the tumult of the city but hankers after some rural idyll.

Culprits one and all.

A lair from the hubbub.

Dwellings of the quaintest kind huddle together like dots in a matrix separated only by a minuscule space.

The more alluring aspects of tradition have been preserved.

Among these are shortcuts or bypasses.

Those sequestered passages that shave miles off for the perennial rambler or clueless hitchhiker.

The eye becomes a lense to all these

things hidden or supposedly hidden.

Human vision as sensor to magic trails.

Those tucked away secret spots beloved of local wiseacres.

They festoon the sprawling countryside at random.

My name is Eric Spring.

Anthea, my partner a transcendental meditation teacher retired early at an early age.

Her withdrawal from work was never meant to be permanent.

A final decision hinged on Anthea's ability to purge that fiendish veil of sadness that had been shadowing her.

There were several obstacles in her path but they weren’t insurmountable.

Thoughts of Anthea in her halcyon days haunted me.

Mental pictures of a vibrant woman imbued with passion.

Poignant evocative heart-tugging images.

Bar excursions into town my station is that of Anthea’s carer.

This eternally stoic woman is mindful of her mental boundaries and the abyss concealed by each of them.

But she is not prone to self-hate or abuse. The more lethal plagues of the psyche hadn't yet impacted on her.

Anthea was groping for exits but hadn’t found the signs.

She remains housebound as I embark on those age defying treks into town.

We keep in touch by mobile phone.

A very angelic sensitive looking person is she.

Reminiscent of a Sunday Times editor.

The accent filters every noun and stresses every nuance.

Like the sounds from an early morning orchard.

Anthea's job became monotonous and her other pursuits painting and writing fled without trace.

A budding artist’s most dreaded syndromes struck.

Writer's block. Artistic vacuum.

The wellspring of her imagination now devoid of those inspiring flashes that sustain creative impulse.

She had few outlets bar my care and a lady called Fidelma who had the edge on me with regard to local knowledge. I longed to hear Anthea's voice on my device.

Her hypnotic voice bridges gaps.

You feel close even when speaking to her from a distance.

I love the walks and savouring all those pivot points of folklore.

I pride myself on my intimate knowledge of every branch strewn rivulet, stream and layered rock formation.

My links to the environment are almost erotic as I crave it's sensual touch.

At times I enter a tranquil zone where the shutters are drawn.

Just myself and all those habitats.

“Hello Eric? Lost in thought again.

How is anthea these days?

I spoke to her over the phone a few days ago.

I sometimes drop in on her when you are out.”

Fidelma speaking with that chirping red robin voice of hers.

She had this penchant for suddenly appearing like an archaeological site.

And she vanished just as quickly leaving the person she spoke to scrambling to process her asides and insights before they disappeared.

Neighbour, friend, root and branch archivist whose grasp of detail was legendary.

“She seems to be coping.” I said.

“Glad to hear that. Maybe I can pay a flying visit some time soon.

But aren't you a foolish man to be imposing all those Olympic Marathons on yourself?”

Fidelma about to share one of her treasured nuggets.

“I love walking but any tips?”

Spring enquired naively as events soon demonstrated.

“There’s a shortcut…..a little known shortcut.

People in the know recommend it though I have never actually used it myself.

Maybe I will one day.

See, it's on the right hand side up the road there.

Think it might be useful when you want to get home in a hurry.” She concluded.

Fidelma in advanced middle age was still sprightly and youthful in her ways.

I missed a text from anthea and Fidelma noticed.

“Yes. I have one of those gadgets too.

Keeps me connected.

Took me awhile to master it.

Wish there was a shortcut for that.

But I'll best be on my way.

Take good care whatever the route.”

As always having spoken to Fidelma I wondered about in a trance.

Another colourful aspect of Fidelma’s personality was her “Banana Skin Syndrome.”

She could lose her balance betimes when enthusing about a topic or when she stumbled on an area that fascinated her.

The feet were a little wobbly.

All this against her philosophy about how interconnected everything is.

The mind is an antenna sending out signals to others was a frequent broadside of hers.

Even when Fidelma said very little she always had this magnetic effect on others.

Those terse one liners could trigger an avalanche in the mind.

Her thin phrases were always shrouded in a well crafted poetic meter.

It was in the tone, gestures and body language.

Those beady yet expressive eyes scanning her environment like a radar screen.

A cascade of images and sound bytes ensued when she left.

Several hours passed as my mind was in overdrive like a central processing unit.

I heard this inner voice telling me to explore this “shortcut.”

Having texted Anthea I then proceeded to this offshoot of a lane.

It was going to lighten the journey of this slope and pavement plodder.

Off I went down this quaint country shortcut.

Nothing out of the ordinary to begin with until Anthea rang.

“Gnawing feeling of sadness.

My mind is a dark blue canvass at the moment.”

Her lilting twang mingling with the song birds at the start of my downward journey.

I sensed this was urgent and started to walk quickly.

That's when problems arose.

Just a plain country passage with a primarily flat surface at this point.

There were houses on each side and some weeds strewn and partially mangled, turned to mulch by wild and indiscriminate boots.

Strange feelings welled up within me as I felt like a geyser at yellowstone.

The puff and splutter of tractors in nearby fields as furrows, the epicenter of future yields were turned.

Scarecrows were strategically perched in the meadow behind the right hand hedge to ward off some menace or other.

Something told me to relate my surroundings to Anthea.

If only to divert attention from an impending gloom.

Those barely audible inner prompts again.

“Eric, I don't want to pressurise you but at the moment I feel this dark cloud.”

Eric paused.

It then occurred to me that I was engulfed by dark foreboding clouds in tandem with a rising rainbow like haze.

As Anthea continued her disorders seemed to be complemented by external threats of rain intermingled with sunshine.

“I feel, Eric there is a radiance trying to break through.

Just to see you … your presence is a light which I could focus on.”

Then I realised that speed was of the essence.

That's when I could have panicked.

Anthea’s voice seemed louder, but also more lyrical as I realised this obscure

overlooked route could have done with some restoration!

Tufts of grass oozing slime.

Mounds of mud with pockets of oil stained water.

The briars were a shock team that endangered every part of the human body.

I was conveying all this to anthea as I was trying to dash at my normal pace.

Oddly Anthea’s tone of desperation started to dip.

But she did appear less tense as I told her this story over the phone.

“Someone told me this is a shortcut.”

Eric said gingerly.

“Who was that ? Anthea asked.

“Fidelma. We met on the main road just a short while ago.” I responded.

“You know her a bit better than I do.”

Anthea observed. “She's going to call over one of these days I'm sure.”

By now Anthea, initially nervous was mellowing as I continued with my frantic running … and staggering commentary!

She didn’t have had much to excite her over the last five years.

But I had to be careful lest those dark brooding phases returned.

Like a roving reporter I regaled her with lurid descriptions of limp green shrubs, tea brown leaves shredded on fissured rocks, juice dripping blackberry bushes with foraging earwigs seeking shelter from the sun.

But here I was almost knee deep in tangled foliage while keeping the love of my life up to speed!

The labyrinthine outcrops and mock craters were all included.

Suddenly misfortune struck without warning.

I nearly sprained my leg as I fell face down on a grassy patch.

Sprawled awkwardly across this surface my phone went flying but I managed to catch it.

“Eric, are you ok?

I don’t mean to be a burden.

Will I get someone to meet you at the end of this lane or short cut.”

Anthea again.

“I'm fine, Anthea.”

Eric said before slowly rising.

I kept detailing my observations and Anthea was reacting positively.

But I made it eventually with the sounds of the road as guide.

The temperatures continued to rise causing perspiration.

Peering thru the maze of entwined growths I saw … Fidelma.

“Where did you spring from?” Eric punning his own name.

“Fidelma ...you fell too.” A question that might have appeared tactless.

She was getting up, having fallen when taking her bearings it seems.

“Fidelma …. thanks but no thanks.

The shortcut.” I said.

“You are shivering.” She observed.

“I am. Spring responded.

“Got to get to Anthea because she might be in need of help.” Spring continued.

We both headed for my house as quickly as possible.

But it wasn’t far.

I texted Anthea and she answered by saying she had every reason to speak to me.

One wondered what that might be.

My face whitened.

Fidelma and I soon reached the house where I lived.

Eric pressed the doorbell as his heart pounded.

The door opened suddenly and we couldn't believe what we saw.

“Anthea, is that you?

I haven't seen you smile like that in years.”

I said.

Fidelma and I were perplexed to say the least.

“It’s early days yet but those locusts of darkness hopping around in my head maybe dwindling.

Those creative juices returned when I sensed your anxiety down the lane because I didn't want two sick people in this house.

But you brought splashes of vivid colour into my drawing room.

I could almost smell the rustic fragrance of every wilting petal and the creaking of every twig.

You set a whole cycle in train.”

Anthea then showed me two items she was working on.

“I have started a rough sketch of the lane you detailed and a short story.

There's been a sea change.” She said.

“Oh I wonder what I'll call this sketch and that short story?

Any ideas?” Anthea enquired.

Fidelma and I looked at each other and spoke almost in unison.

“I think we both have a fair idea what they both might be called.

Your story included.”

A little known shortcut indeed!

Photograph and short story copyright protected

[bittersculs-blog]

𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒸𝒽 𝒶𝓅𝓅 ( stella maeve. cisfemale, she/her, devil like me + rainbow kitten surprise. ) i heard CAITLIN GODFREY singing the other night, though it didn’t sound like english… it’s so admirable that someone who’s only TWENTY-NINE  can sing latin so fluently! heard they hang out with those LUX CIRCLE, that must be because they’re a PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR  at SELF-EMPLOYED. i always see them going home to BROOKLYN by MOTORCYCLE under the moonlit night. 

Like this and I’ll slip into your DMs to plot! Or add me on discord at the_revati#8487

BACKGROUND

[tw: child death, death, dark magic in general]

“Put your faith in science, anything else will only lead you astray.” This is not the first thing Caitlin hears her father say to her but it is certainly the first thing she attributes to him. Caitlin Godfrey-Hawthorne was born in the midnight hour in Piedmont, California one late October. She was a curious minded child and at a young age she found a passion for science. Though Cassandra was the sole child of the Godfrey-Hawthorne household, she knew little about her parents. There seemed to be a certain kind of distance between them. There was her father, stern and scientific. He was a forensic scientist who was overworked and underpaid.  And then there was her mother, kind and esoteric, whom Caitlin only knew from the side of a bed. Cassandra passed away when Caitlin was 10, leaving the majority of her life a secret. This included her status as a witch.

Caitlin’s magic started showing itself soon after her mother’s death. The sadness she felt manifested itself through her powers and Caitlin, completely unknowing of just what she was, was terrified. She kept her magic to herself, convinced she was going crazy.  

It was chance that about a year or so after her stumbling onto her magic, the Lux Coven, especially the Godfrey family, came knocking.  Brennan Godfrey, Cassandra’s brother, showed up on the Godfrey-Hawthorne doorstep in Piedmont, California. Brennan had his sister’s kindness but he and Cassandra differed in that he did not share her distaste for light magic; the very distaste that had led her to dissociate from the coven years ago. Brennan wanted to teach Caitlin about their family’s legacy, to show her what she was capable of - show her that she was capable of great good. In Brennan, Caitlin finally saw an opportunity to gain some answers about her mother and herself. Intent to keep family close, Brennan offered Caitlin the option to come spend every school with the coven.

That’s exactly what happened. Every year till she was 21, Caitlin stayed with the Godfrey side of the family. Every year she fell more in love with magic and less in love with science. It didn’t matter if it was light magic, Caitlin felt a sense of community with the Godfrey’s, something that was a first time for the only child.  When she finally graduated with an undergraduate degree in biochemistry like her father, she had no intention of actually using the degree. Caitlin bid her father farewell and moved to New York to become a part of the Godfrey coven.

Caitlin grew close to the Leroy family during this time. She dated the oldest, Jameson, through high school. 

When Jameson left for Oregon at 18, Cait stayed in New York to go to Cornell for college. She double majored in Biochem and criminology. 

It was at some point, during her undergraduate studies that she found herself dating Jameson’s younger brother, Atlas. The two fell in love and soon got married. He was dedicated to the Church. She found a way to live with that. 

Tragedy struck when their first set of twins was still born. A wedge formed between the two. 

The Godfrey coven was naturally attuned to light, but New York has its dark corners. Caitlin took up magic with her childhood Jameson that was looking for an apprentice. The young witch took up an apprenticeship without telling any of her family or coven. 

Caitlin’s hopes and dreams blinded her to the reality of the situation. She hoped to be a strong witch, one that could catch up to the rest of the coven. She felt behind, having grown up California - away from all this. She dreamed of Jameson and saw the two of them building something new and stronger together. For a few glorious years, Caitlin felt seen. 

It was only her hopes and dreams. Jameson had something darker planned.

Jameson needed Caitlin’s bones, see? All 206 of them for this little spell he wanted to try. A thing he’d finally been sitting on and developing for years. When he told her about this spell, he failed to mention how she’d be part of it. It was probably her survival instinct that saved her by the skin of her teeth in the end. They gathered the ingredients and began the steps. Caitlin’s felt the dark magic sweep through her, rattle her bones, maybe even realign a few, and somehow she knew that danger was heading towards her like a freight train.

She escaped, after a fight of course. She managed to get away with her life, a wounded heart, a cursed body and… Jameson’s grimoire.

The young witch ran. Home was her first inclination. But when she arrived, she found she didn’t have it in herself to tell her uncle or her Coven about her own stupidity. She deserved what had happened to her. This was obviously the price of something else replacing her Coven in her mind’s eye. It was betrayal, wasn’t it? It weighed down on her like a great shame. Caitlin felt so stupid for trusting, for loving. She slunk back to her coven tail between her legs.

But something felt wrong. While Caitlin and Jameson hadn’t completed the spell (whatever it was supposed to do), something had nestled within her nonetheless. She flipped through the stolen grimoire searching for answers and found none. 

Caitlin has been in New York for a while now. Sure she’s a witch, but that’s not exactly a full time occupation that puts money on the table is it? So in between Caitlin trying to figure out exactly what is wrong with herself - if anything - and mending a failing relationship with her coven, she has taken up a job as a private investigator. It’s an occupation her father would have been proud of. 

ABOUT (TL;DR)

Her mother was part of the founding Coven, but she grew up in California away from it

When her mother passed away, she was whisked away to New York to join her mother’s coven - the Lux coven with the Godfrey’s

Caitlin felt out of place in the new state, but felt at home with the Leroys. Dated Jameson through high school. Broke up when he moved to Oregon. 

 Went to Cornell for undergraduate studies. Met Jameson’s younger brother, Atlas there. They dated. They got married. 

Their first set of twins was still born. Cait and Atlas grew apart. 

Cait turned more towards dark magic. 

Jameson, now back in two, took Cait under his wing as his apprentice. 

Jameson had sinister plans. The witch wanted to use her for dark magic, Caitlin barely escaped - and something most definitely went wrong. She’s trying to figure out what’s wrong with her. All she has is the grimoire of the dark witch she escaped from 

She’s trying to create a name for herself, away from the Godfrey’s, and has started up a private investigation business. It’s her whole life. 

She avoids talking about her stray from the light at all costs 

PERSONALITY / OTHER

Hawthorne Investigations is based out of Brooklyn and Caitlin is the sole employee. She, quite literally, lives at work. She’s converted the living area of her one bedroom, one bathroom apartment into an office space. Caitlin, determined to make a new name for herself, away from the Godfrey name, is constantly buried in work. The juxtaposition of her office space and her bedroom space is a perfect representation of the contrast between her professional and social life. Caitlin’s office space is pristine. Her bedroom? A mess.

Caitlin loves to read. While she has a strong taste for the classics, her heart still beats for all things scientific and analytical. Her degree was in biochemistry and a copy of the Scientific American can stop in her tracks.

Caitlin hates New York. She grew up in Piedmont; she has an undeniable passion for the outdoors with little tolerance for an urban sprawl. Caitlin makes an effort to go camping at least once a month. When not dressed for work (where she likes to make it appear that she has at least some semblance of control) she is wearing boots and flannel.

Caitlin is not a heavy drinker because she hates purposefully making her body feel out of her own control. Although, she is a heavy smoker; a bad habit she picked up since moving to New York. Caitlin rolls her own cigarettes. She enjoys the method associated with the gesture and it allows her to be picky with the tobacco she uses. It’s calming and she appreciates the deep irony of assembling something that is slowly killing her.

Caitlin has taken on a lone-wolf personality. She has few friends if any, and so most of her time is spent investing in the relationships she has with her clients. Even though she wants community more than anything, Caitlin is purposely keeping herself at a distance from other people. If there was one phrase guiding her life at the moment it would be: “Trust no one” - for sake of her safety and theirs.

She is an inventor at heart, always trying a new potion or inventing a new spell.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

Exes 

Clients 

Friends That Make Sure She’s Still Alive 

Witch friends

Enemies

Anything in between - give this a like, and we can figure something out!

[animebw]

Short Reflection: Today’s Meal for the Emiya Family

Ah, the Fate franchise. One of anime’s most respected, extensive, yet oddly superfluous multiverses. Admittedly, I’ve only seen Ufotable’s now iconic translation of the main storyline (Fate/Zero and Unlimited Blade Works) in what has become a sprawling universe of near-infinite possibility, so I have certainly no right to comment on the overall quality of any of the many, many, many spin-offs. But I can’t help but wonder; how necessary, really, is all of this? The main plot of an urban fantasy wizard death game with magical, anime-ized takes on classic figures of myth and history is a spectacular idea, and the story both of Shiro Emiya and his father as they try to maintain their morals in the midst of a chaotic, swirling mass of conflict and death is simultaneously both a better Chirsopher Nolan philosophical potboiler and a better Zach Snyder mythic spectacle than either of those filmmakers have ever actually achieved. And the framework lends itself well to repetition, seeing what new familiar public-domain entities we can transform into magic-wielding badasses to duke it out in underlit streets and abandoned buildings. But Jesus, how fucking many of these things do we need? How many additions have there been to the lore and characters that just spread further and further outward like puke on the pavement until the excellent ideas and craft at the core are buried under infinite mounds of mediocrity and superfluity? Say what you want about the MCU, at least the vast majority of its properties are incredibly well-received by critics and audiences alike.

Well, perhaps I’ll change my tune on the subject if and when I finally start diving into the endless world of Fate spinoffs myself. Sadly, if Today’s Meal for the Emiya Family is any indication, I’m not sure how likely that possibility is.

I don’t want to be too harsh on Today’s Meal for the Emiya Family- or, as it will be henceforth known, Food/Stay Night- because there’s not really anything to hate here. It’s a light, inoffensive side thing that exists for a very specific purpose and not much else. Based on a spinoff manga, it takes place in a version of the main timeline where the combatants in the war for the Holy Grail have all settled down, stopped fighting, and pretty much just become slightly annoying neighbors to each other. And the show is a series of short, 12-minute vignettes focused on Shiro’s occasionally-mentiond-in-the-OG-text passion for cooking, as he cooks up a variety of meals across the year, inviting a rotating selection of the Stay Night cast to com eat with him.

So yeah, it’s essentially a cooking show featuring the Nasuverse mainstays, a food porn diversion that also doubles as Fate fanservice of seeing all your favorite characters just hang out without the stress of a war hanging over their heads, interacting in low-key stakes and bouncing their personalities off each other. That’s all it’s really here to do, so again, there’s not really any reason to get annoyed at it. I guess my indifference toward Food/Stay Night comes from just how bare bones it is. There really is nothing more to it than Barefoot Contessa with Shiro Emiya, nothing else of substance to hang onto or invest your attention in. The pacing is slow and aimless, with oddly long pauses in the middle of conversations and fairly milquetoast dialogue. The animation is nice and fluffy, refitting the harsh atmosphere and character designs of the show proper into a warmer slice-of-life atmosphere, but it's not unique enough to be a draw on its own. If you're not already super-invested in the lives of these characters, it has nothing to offer you.

And while the Fate universe does have a lot of really great characters, I find that their incarnations here feel unnecessarily bland. Everyone's just so nice and toothless and standard, and while I am a noted defender of nice and toothless storytelling, I find myself missing these character's more engaging edges. I miss Shiro's dorky intensity, Saber's stoic compassion, Sakura's slight lilt of pain, Caster's quiet despair, Ilya's creepy kid shtick. The only two characters who survive this sandblasting unscathed are Lancer, who's bro-y demeanor has always lent itself well to low-key comedy, and Rin Tohsaka, further convincing me that she's the best character in the whole damn franchise. Seriously, her spunk and take-charge attitude is an absolute delight, and the episodes where she takes the spotlight are easily the best episodes of the bunch.

Perhaps it does come down to preference here. By now, the Fate franchise has grown so far beyond the confines of its original interpretation that assigning it to just one role may be too limiting. And it would be foolish to dismiss any new endeavor just because it doesn't suit what *I* think of as Fate. But Food/Stay Night is just too inconsequential, albeit pleasant enough in the moment, to stake much of an opinion on either way. It's a wispy, harmless spinoff that fans will enjoy and no one else will get much out of, and I give it a score of:

5/10

[fadingemeralds]

Torchfall - love the sin

The roadside diner was packed on the eve of Halloween.

Cinder idly circled the grass beneath them, let one of her flames dance between her fingers and burn everything in its path while they waited, hiding out at the forest’s edge. A safe enough distance to watch but not to be seen.

Urban myths ranked around this place ever since the great massacre of 1978. 15 people died, slaughtered with a butcher’s knife and the killer was never identified. So as is law, stories sprawled like poison ivy, passed down from parents to children in blurrier details every time they were told, of evil spirits cursing the person sitting in the spot of those who were once murdered there and ghosts wandering the kitchen aimlessly.

Of course, this attracted particularly daring (meaning: drunk) teens wanting to experience the „haunted“ place for themselves, especially during this time of the year.

Little did they know that it wouldn’t be ghosts they’d need to fear.

„Would you please watch out with your magic fingers? This is Versace“, Roman whispered next to her, scandalized, the tone of voice he only used when something was expensive and utterly meaningless. Still, she hadn’t noticed just how she had accidentally burned a small hole in his too-fancy-for-the-occasion shirt and went to inspect the damage when something on their right suddenly grabbed her attention.

A satisfied smirk tugged on the corner of her lips as she watched the rusted red Chevy pull into the driveway, reverse and shakily come to a halt in one of the parking spaces. It looked like it would fall apart at any second. And who knew if it would ever turn on again?

„I’ll buy you a new one.“ Her mumbling was barely audible, absent-minded because her eyes had just locked onto the target. Cinder’s smirk turned horrifically sharp in a matter of milliseconds.

„Them?“, Roman asked, one eyebrow raised as he followed her gaze and sized up the passengers emerging from the vehicle one after the other. „Really?“

„Yes. I want them.“ Her voice left no room for uncertainty.

He sighed and clicked his tongue. „I don’t know Cinder, they don’t seem like the sharpest tools around - I can already predict how this is going to go down. Hyperactive over there is a screamer, Pink Streak will die trying to protect his girlfriend even though he knows it’s a lost cause, Blond Boy will pathetically beg for mercy with his big, blue puppy-dog eyes and panic once we crush his spirit. The only one making for a real challenge is Scarlet and I already know you want to take her on. So what’s left for me, huh?“

Cinder shook her head at the annoyance in his voice. „Your inability to perceive nuance continues to amuse me, Roman. For somebody that speaks with such arrogance, you inexplicably missed how the quiet boy and the blonde one hold hands. What an obvious detail to disregard."

Roman hastily leaned forward to get a closer look and groaned when her words proved to be true. He despised that, she knew. „Does it really matter which one he’s fucking? They’re still dreadfully boring.“

She whipped her head around to stare him down. „We’re here to collect souls. Our fun is of marginal importance.“ Her glare immediately increased in vitriol when she saw him mouth along to her words.

„Funny how you keep saying that same sentence when all I hear is „I’m the boss, my rules, I decide“. The key to successfully run a business is to keep your employees happy, Cinder and do I look very happy to you right now? I need some goddamn variety on this month’s victim menu or else I’m gonna starve. And fuck do I hate starving.“

Her expression softened as she exhaled, reached out to caress his cheek with her fingertips gently, softly, with just a hint of warmth lingering beneath. She offered him one of her rarer, fonder smiles and his gaze turned suspicious. „You’ve been so patient thus far. This is one more kill in a series of kills. We’re so close we can taste it. Do you not also think endangering our goal by searching for more… exotic victims isn’t worth the risk it poses?“ She leaned forward, impassive at his irate expression, and stopped mere inches from his ear. „Soon. I promise. And meanwhile, I’m sure I can keep you entertained in.. other ways.“ He visibly shivered when she started toying with his hair, stealing the wind out of whatever word it was he had planned to throw at her. „Your tricks get cheaper every time you use them“, he said, closing his eyes. „Oh, but they work.“

Cinder cut off his reply with her lips, her hands curled around his neck and her body pressed against his, flush, close, hot. Swept up in passion, she even went as far as to allow him to put his hands around her waist, enjoying his touch, the heat, the faint taste of smoke. Fire. She liked everything Fire. She also liked playing him but she was no fool. Despite what he might try to make her believe, he wasn’t this easily distracted, this easily silenced. He may have decided to let it go for tonight, but if they didn’t manage to follow up on their plan soon, he wouldn’t waste time in betraying her. She was sure of that. Roman didn’t pledge allegiance to anyone, especially not to her.

Good thing he wasn’t aware of what she knew. Cinder separated from him with the first honest, wicked grin of the evening, her eyes glowing like embers as she held onto his collar to keep him close. “Let’s go hunt some kids, Roman.” He rolled his eyes. “Fine, but I get Miss Hyperactive. And you pay for dinner tonight. Murder leaves me hungry.” She took his hand and pulled him after her.

This story can also be found on AO3 (where you’re also very free to comment by the way).

It’s still Halloween in my mind.

[bodyglitter]

Part One

August 15, 2012. I remember this day very well. Actually, the only thing I remembered. The day my world turned upside down. The day I lost my memory.

Do you get that feeling that everyone hates you? Well, I know everyone hates me, for one reason. I’m Niall Horan’s girlfriend. Every time I login to my Twitter account, my mentions are full of hate. Why don’t I just deactivate?

The digital clock in my bedroom ticked from 9:59 to 10:00. I was sprawled carelessly across my bed, scrolling through my Twitter, teardrops falling down my face and splattering onto my phone. Why do I even bother? I silently cried, trying not to wake Niall, as I hugged my giant Pink pillow to my chest. I heard my door creak. Niall was peering in through the crack. I quickly hid my phone under my pillow and pretend nothing had just happened. He opened the door all the way, and came in, not shutting the door.

“Babe, what’s going on?” Niall asked, concerned.

“Nothing, what makes you think there’s something wrong? There’s nothing,” I say, sniffling. I clearly wasn’t a great actress. I know he had seen everything that just happened.

“Yes there is. I just saw what happened, don’t deny it.” He said, wiping my tears from my face, sitting down on my bed.

“But they all hate me. I don’t deserve to be your girlfriend, I don’t deserve to live.” I whispered.

“Brooke. Look at me. You are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. I chose you out of a million fans. Are you really going to let a bunch of people sitting behind a computer screen get to you?” Niall said, as I looked into his ocean blue eyes.

“I guess not.” I said, wiping away the remainder of my tears. I could always count on Niall to make me feel better, no matter what mood I was in.

He leaned in for a kiss, the smell of peppermint lingering on his breath. We kissed passionately, staying in that position for a couple moments.

“Let’s go somewhere.” he said

“That’s not a good idea. There’s-” he held up his slender finger up to my pursed lips.

“Paparazzi won’t be out this late. Besides, who cares if they’re there? I love being seen in public with you” he said, knowing what I was going to say.

“Well okay.” I said, as a smile crept up on my face. “Let me get dressed.”

He stayed there looking at me.

“Um Niall? Can I change?” I ask.

“Why can’t you change in front of me?” he asks seductively.

“Get out Niall!” I tease, throwing my pillow at him

“Okay okay!” he said, smiling, as he walked out of my room, closing the door quietly. Thank God.

I opened up the Twitter app and saw a tweet from Niall in my mentions.

“@NiallOfficial: Guys leave @brookiecookiee alone. Hating her won’t make me like you. Love you babe xx” Awh, what a sweetie, I thought. I laid my phone on top of my pink dresser.

I surveyed my walk-in closet for something to wear.

“Ugh I have nothing to wear.” I shouted at my overflowing wardrobe. 

Finally, after five minutes, I put on my favorite plain white sleeveless blouse and bleached high waisted jeans shorts both from Urban Outfitters, my favorite place to shop besides Top Shop. I bent down to pick up my wedges, when I felt a pair of hands on my waist.

“Niall, not now! When we get home!” I said, winking and biting my lip.

“I love it when you play hard to get.” he said seductively.

I reached on the top shelf for my makeup bag, and Niall slapped my hand.

“Niall, what was that for?” I asked annoyed.

“You don’t need makeup. You’re prettier without it.” he said, kissing the tip of my nose.

I smiled. He clutched my hand, and we walked down the stairs together. Niall grabbed his Ramones jacket off the counter and grabbed his keys. He had just passed his driving test a few days ago.

“Ready babe?” he asked while slipping into his jacket.

“Yeah.” I mumbled, fumbling with the zipper on my leather jacket.

We both headed for the front door, Niall in front. He grabbed his set of keys as we approached the door. He slowly opened the door, scanning the area for any signs of paparazzi.

“Coast is clear.” he uttered to himself. “After you, my lady.” He said to me, making a gesture to the door.

“Thanks.” I said, smiling, walking to his shining black Range Rover in the black night.

We hopped in the car. He shut his door and jammed his key into the engine.

“What do you want to listen to?” he asked

I fished around for a CD in my messy purple Gucci purse. I was debating whether i should choose Up All Night or Take Me Home. I decided Up All Night, because of all the good memories. I was just a fan back then.

I slipped the CD in the CD player. Niall had no idea what CD I put in there. “Everything About You” starts blaring through the stereo.

Although Niall’s eyes were fixed on the road, I could see a smile plastered on his face. He starts singing along to the track.

“So… where are go-” Niall held up a finger to my lips, shushing me, one hand on the steering wheel. All while he was completely focused on the road. Wow, I thought. His driving teacher must’ve thought him well.

“Shhh…. It’s a surprise!” he said as we came to a stop sign. In my side mirror, black vans started to appear. 

“Niall!” I whined. “You said there wouldn’t be any paps!“ 

“Princess, I’m sorry, I had no clue.” He said with true sympathy. 

He started to speed up to get away from the paparazzi, the numbers on the speedometer going higher and higher by the second. 

“Niall watch out!” I shrieked, as we neared a large tree. He noticed at the last second, and the Range Rover hit the tree.

Everything went blank. 

Part Two

Niall’s P.O.V.

“Niall watch out!” Brooke screeched as my car ran straight into the tree ahead of us, paparazzi still behind us.

“FUCK OFF!” I yell at them, flicking them off, causing them to scurry. Ugh, I thought, what will the tabloids make out of this? Whatever, I thought, pushing away the thought from my dark clouded mind, trying to focus on what was important.

I looked back at the passenger seat. Brooke was unconscious, seatbelt nearly choking her. The car was smashed, the windshield, everything. It was a miracle we were both still alive. Well, I don’t know if Brooke is, I thought, tears streaming down my face, forming a puddle on my jeans. There was no way I could drive this wrecked car. I unbuckled both our seatbelts, and opened my door. It fell to the ground, shattering. I picked Brooke up bridal style and patted my jeans down to make an attempt to find my phone. Of course, when I actually needed it, I didn’t have it. Fuck it, I thought. I started running, Brooke in my arms. I had no idea where I was going, but she needed to get to a hospital immediately. As I ran, it started to drizzle, then it started pouring rain. Brooke’s white top was becoming see-through, so I took off my jacket and wrapped it around her. She looked like an angel, even while unconscious. (ya girl dyin and you care that her top becomin see through? im..)

When I finally reached the hospital, I dashed through the doors, almost slipping on wet tile. 

“WE NEED DOCTORS NOW, IT’S AN EMERGENCY!” I half yelled, half panted.

What seemed like a million doctors came out of the ICU and took Brooke out of my hands, rolling her onto a stretcher, wheeling her faster than the speed of lightning. 

After five hours, a nurse comes out, heading in my direction. 

“Mr. Hor-”

“IS SHE OKAY?! IS SHE ALIVE?!” I screamed, shaking the nurse. People were staring, so what? I care about Brooke, I really do. That’s what I was going to tell her in the car. Maybe right now, I won’t even be able to ever tell her. 

“Mr. Horan, please calm down. She’s sleeping on pills but I’m afraid she’s lost her memory." 

Part Three

Niall’s P.O.V.

I could feel something warm running down my cheek, a tear. I push hastily past the nurse, running to Brooke’s room. She wouldn’t remember me?! I thought, angry welling in my cheeks. She wouldn’t remember the memories we shared, the short films we made, the little kisses we shared. Wait, the short films we made. That gave me an idea.

I ran down the narrow hallway, faster and faster, praying I would find her room. I slowed my pace, becoming out of breath. I looked in every room, and finally stood before the one she was resting in. I sprinted into her room, and examined her for a few seconds. I broke down in tears. I couldn’t look at her. This is all my fault, why couldn’t I just listen to her?

I kneeled down beside her hospital bed and took her hand in mine, tightly, and looked at her angelic figure. Not even a scratch.

"Brooke,” I said, lips trembling. “I know you can’t hear me, but I love you.” I took out a locket from my pocket and placed it around her neck. I kissed her forehead, shortly before the same nurse came bursting into the room.

“Mr. Horan, please listens to me. It’s just a temporary thing, it’ll come back in a few hours,because the crash wasn’t that bad. You’re very lucky this time.” the stout nurse said.

“Oh thank you!” I sigh in relief and hugged her tightly.“She may be discharged right now if you like, I can see she’s about to wake up.” the nurse says, striding out if the door.

I heard mumbling, so I looked back. Brooke was getting out of the hospital bed, hospital gown and everything on. 

“Brooke!” I ran up to her and hugged her. “How are you feeling?”“Who’s that? Who are you?” she questioned.“Your name is Brooke. Brooke D'arcangelo. I’m Niall Horan, I’m in One Direction, the worlds most famous boyband, and I’m also your boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend, huh? Prove it.” she said.

“There’s no time for that here. I’ll prove it when we get home.” I said. She shrugged. 

I helped her out of her hospital gown, and into her normal clothes.

We walked outside in the damp, humid weather. I used the hospital payphone to call a taxi. Within a few moments the taxi arrived. 

I helped her get into the taxi, climbing in after her, buckling my seatbelt. I realized I was sitting on a newspaper, so I picked it up and started reading. A certain words and a picture caught my eye.

“Niall Horan & Girlfriend Car Fiasco” It was a whole article about the crash, with the picture of the horribly damaged car, and of course, the picture of me flicking off the paparazzi. Great, I thought. Just what I needed to lift the spirit.

We arrived home, and I tipped the taxi driver, helping Brooke, cautiously, out of the car. We walked hand-in-hand up to the porch. I grabbed my set of keys out of my jeans pocket and unlocked the front door. 

I watched her walk into the house, looking puzzled.

“This is a beautiful house.” She breathed in wonder.

“Because you live here.” I say, with a smile on my face. I run upstairs to retrieve the box of home videos we made together. Brooke had always wanted to be a filmmaker. Hopefully this will jog back her memory, I thought.

I ran downstairs with the heavy box. I walk into the screening room and set the box full to the brim of DVDs in front of the big screen. I call for Brooke. She rushes in.

“Listen Brooke, I don’t know if you know this, but you lost your memory, and I’m going to try to make an attempt to get your memory back with these home videos.” She nods and sits down. I slip one of the movies in and sit next to her.

A video appeared on the screen of us baking chocolate chip cookies together for the boys. I’d never forget this memory.

Brooke was mixing the ingredients together, as I licked the leftover cookie dough from the package. 

“Are you going to help?” Brooke asks.

“Um… well you see-" 

"Fine, have it your way. You won’t be able to eat any of the cookies then.” Brooke teases.

“Okay, two can play at this game.” I say mischievously.

“Let’s go then.” Brooke says, ‘accidentally’ flicking a spoonful of dough at me.

“Oh, you like to play, don’t you?” I say, grabbing a handful of cookie dough from the bowl and throwing it at her. By the end of the video, we both looked like abdominal snowmen, but most of our fast wasn’t plastered. (’abdominal’…snowmen..)

“Maybe we should just buy cookies from the store?” she asks. I nod.

“You’ve got something on your nose.” I say, kissing the tip of it.

“You’ve got something on your lips.” she says, kissing me on the lips, even though there was no dough on my lips.

“I wonder how I’m going to get this dough of off me….” she says.

“Why can’t I just lick you clean?” I ask. She giggles.

We both look at each other, for what seemed like a thousand years, then to the camera. I leaned in for a kiss, and Brooke covers the camera with her hand.

I get up and slip in another DVD. I remember this one very well. I secretly videotaped the time me and Brooke were dancing before the charity event me, the boys, and their girlfriends were attending. I had to admit, we were both shit dancers. But that didn’t stop me. This video was probably the cutest one. 

“Niall, no! Right foot, then left foot, follow my lead.” she said, as I accidentally stepped on her shoes. The video went on for about five more minutes.

The whole day we watched the box of home videos. It was no use. I walked up to my bedroom. I sat on my bed, getting lost in my thoughts, until someone opened the door and then slammed it shut. It was just Brooke. She was walking towards me, her face twisted with anger. 

“Woah, Brooke. What’s wrong?” I asked, concerned.

“I got my memory back. I’m beyond furious. You see what happens when you don’t listen to me? Look at the shit you got us into. Look at what you caused.” she yells.

“What the fuck? Are you blaming me for this?” I yell back, standing up, clenching my fists.

“No, I promise there won’t be any paparazzi, my ass. Yes, I’m blaming you, this is all your fault!” she yells. This is the first time I’ve ever seen her like this.

“You were the one that agreed!” I screamed.

“I didn’t want to, but you FORCED me!” she yelled, eyes blazed with fury.

“You know what, fine. If all you want to do is talk shit, pack your bags and get the fuck out of my house. We’re done. It’s done.”

[mantrabay]

A Little Known Shortcut.

Wandering the roads. It has me under a spell.

Even when prickly brambles

scrape my eyelids or those bony ankles are being twisted by tooth like stones. The angular sort clustered mischievously among the green shoots that litter every footpath.

They lie in wait, in ambush.

It goes with the territory for this seasoned footman.

Meandering landscapes are house and home to the spiral lanes and clover clad hills that are rife in my area.

Their rustic heritage sometimes sacrificed to the orphanage of malleable motives.

Crop farmers obsessed with bountiful harvest.

A restless developer pushing the limits of an urban jungle.

Fellow traveller in league with fugitives from the cockpit.

The pressure cooker of modern life.

The town dweller with split loyalties who clings to the tumult of the city but hankers after some rural idyll.

Culprits one and all.

A lair from the hubbub.

Dwellings of the quaintest kind huddle together like dots in a matrix separated only by a minuscule space.

The more alluring aspects of tradition have been preserved.

Among these are shortcuts or bypasses.

Those sequestered passages that shave miles off for the perennial rambler or clueless hitchhiker.

The eye becomes a lense to all these

things hidden or supposedly hidden.

Human vision as sensor to magic trails.

Those tucked away secret spots beloved of local wiseacres.

They festoon the sprawling countryside at random.

My name is Eric Spring.

Anthea, my partner a transcendental meditation teacher retired early at an early age.

Her withdrawal from work was never meant to be permanent.

A final decision hinged on Anthea's ability to purge that fiendish veil of sadness that had been shadowing her.

There were several obstacles in her path but they weren’t insurmountable.

Thoughts of Anthea in her halcyon days haunted me.

Mental pictures of a vibrant woman imbued with passion.

Poignant evocative heart-tugging images.

Bar excursions into town my station is that of Anthea’s carer.

This eternally stoic woman is mindful of her mental boundaries and the abyss concealed by each of them.

But she is not prone to self-hate or abuse. The more lethal plagues of the psyche hadn't yet impacted on her.

Anthea was groping for exits but hadn’t found the signs.

She remains housebound as I embark on those age defying treks into town.

We keep in touch by mobile phone.

A very angelic sensitive looking person is she.

Reminiscent of a Sunday Times editor.

The accent filters every noun and stresses every nuance.

Like the sounds from an early morning orchard.

Anthea's job became monotonous and her other pursuits painting and writing fled without trace.

A budding artist’s most dreaded syndromes struck.

Writer's block. Artistic vacuum.

The wellspring of her imagination now devoid of those inspiring flashes that sustain creative impulse.

She had few outlets bar my care and a lady called Fidelma who had the edge on me with regard to local knowledge. I longed to hear Anthea's voice on my device.

Her hypnotic voice bridges gaps.

You feel close even when speaking to her from a distance.

I love the walks and savouring all those pivot points of folklore.

I pride myself on my intimate knowledge of every branch strewn rivulet, stream and layered rock formation.

My links to the environment are almost erotic as I crave it's sensual touch.

At times I enter a tranquil zone where the shutters are drawn.

Just myself and all those habitats.

“Hello Eric? Lost in thought again.

How is anthea these days?

I spoke to her over the phone a few days ago.

I sometimes drop in on her when you are out.”

Fidelma speaking with that chirping red robin voice of hers.

She had this penchant for suddenly appearing like an archaeological site.

And she vanished just as quickly leaving the person she spoke to scrambling to process her asides and insights before they disappeared.

Neighbour, friend, root and branch archivist whose grasp of detail was legendary.

“She seems to be coping.” I said.

“Glad to hear that. Maybe I can pay a flying visit some time soon.

But aren't you a foolish man to be imposing all those Olympic Marathons on yourself?”

Fidelma about to share one of her treasured nuggets.

“I love walking but any tips?”

Spring enquired naively as events soon demonstrated.

“There’s a shortcut…..a little known shortcut.

People in the know recommend it though I have never actually used it myself.

Maybe I will one day.

See, it's on the right hand side up the road there.

Think it might be useful when you want to get home in a hurry.” She concluded.

Fidelma in advanced middle age was still sprightly and youthful in her ways.

I missed a text from anthea and Fidelma noticed.

“Yes. I have one of those gadgets too.

Keeps me connected.

Took me awhile to master it.

Wish there was a shortcut for that.

But I'll best be on my way.

Take good care whatever the route.”

As always having spoken to Fidelma I wondered about in a trance.

Another colourful aspect of Fidelma’s personality was her “Banana Skin Syndrome.”

She could lose her balance betimes when enthusing about a topic or when she stumbled on an area that fascinated her.

The feet were a little wobbly.

All this against her philosophy about how interconnected everything is.

The mind is an antenna sending out signals to others was a frequent broadside of hers.

Even when Fidelma said very little she always had this magnetic effect on others.

Those terse one liners could trigger an avalanche in the mind.

Her thin phrases were always shrouded in a well crafted poetic meter.

It was in the tone, gestures and body language.

Those beady yet expressive eyes scanning her environment like a radar screen.

A cascade of images and sound bytes ensued when she left.

Several hours passed as my mind was in overdrive like a central processing unit.

I heard this inner voice telling me to explore this “shortcut.”

Having texted Anthea I then proceeded to this offshoot of a lane.

It was going to lighten the journey of this slope and pavement plodder.

Off I went down this quaint country shortcut.

Nothing out of the ordinary to begin with until Anthea rang.

“Gnawing feeling of sadness.

My mind is a dark blue canvass at the moment.”

Her lilting twang mingling with the song birds at the start of my downward journey.

I sensed this was urgent and started to walk quickly.

That's when problems arose.

Just a plain country passage with a primarily flat surface at this point.

There were houses on each side and some weeds strewn and partially mangled, turned to mulch by wild and indiscriminate boots.

Strange feelings welled up within me as I felt like a geyser at yellowstone.

The puff and splutter of tractors in nearby fields as furrows, the epicenter of future yields were turned.

Scarecrows were strategically perched in the meadow behind the right hand hedge to ward off some menace or other.

Something told me to relate my surroundings to Anthea.

If only to divert attention from an impending gloom.

Those barely audible inner prompts again.

“Eric, I don't want to pressurise you but at the moment I feel this dark cloud.”

Eric paused.

It then occurred to me that I was engulfed by dark foreboding clouds in tandem with a rising rainbow like haze.

As Anthea continued her disorders seemed to be complemented by external threats of rain intermingled with sunshine.

“I feel, Eric there is a radiance trying to break through.

Just to see you … your presence is a light which I could focus on.”

Then I realised that speed was of the essence.

That's when I could have panicked.

Anthea’s voice seemed louder, but also more lyrical as I realised this obscure

overlooked route could have done with some restoration!

Tufts of grass oozing slime.

Mounds of mud with pockets of oil stained water.

The briars were a shock team that endangered every part of the human body.

I was conveying all this to anthea as I was trying to dash at my normal pace.

Oddly Anthea’s tone of desperation started to dip.

But she did appear less tense as I told her this story over the phone.

“Someone told me this is a shortcut.”

Eric said gingerly.

“Who was that ? Anthea asked.

“Fidelma. We met on the main road just a short while ago.” I responded.

“You know her a bit better than I do.”

Anthea observed. “She's going to call over one of these days I'm sure.”

By now Anthea, initially nervous was mellowing as I continued with my frantic running … and staggering commentary!

She didn’t have had much to excite her over the last five years.

But I had to be careful lest those dark brooding phases returned.

Like a roving reporter I regaled her with lurid descriptions of limp green shrubs, tea brown leaves shredded on fissured rocks, juice dripping blackberry bushes with foraging earwigs seeking shelter from the sun.

But here I was almost knee deep in tangled foliage while keeping the love of my life up to speed!

The labyrinthine outcrops and mock craters were all included.

Suddenly misfortune struck without warning.

I nearly sprained my leg as I fell face down on a grassy patch.

Sprawled awkwardly across this surface my phone went flying but I managed to catch it.

“Eric, are you ok?

I don’t mean to be a burden.

Will I get someone to meet you at the end of this lane or short cut.”

Anthea again.

“I'm fine, Anthea.”

Eric said before slowly rising.

I kept detailing my observations and Anthea was reacting positively.

But I made it eventually with the sounds of the road as guide.

The temperatures continued to rise causing perspiration.

Peering thru the maze of entwined growths I saw … Fidelma.

“Where did you spring from?” Eric punning his own name.

“Fidelma ...you fell too.” A question that might have appeared tactless.

She was getting up, having fallen when taking her bearings it seems.

“Fidelma …. thanks but no thanks.

The shortcut.” I said.

“You are shivering.” She observed.

“I am. Spring responded.

“Got to get to Anthea because she might be in need of help.” Spring continued.

We both headed for my house as quickly as possible.

But it wasn’t far.

I texted Anthea and she answered by saying she had every reason to speak to me.

One wondered what that might be.

My face whitened.

Fidelma and I soon reached the house where I lived.

Eric pressed the doorbell as his heart pounded.

The door opened suddenly and we couldn't believe what we saw.

“Anthea, is that you?

I haven't seen you smile like that in years.”

I said.

Fidelma and I were perplexed to say the least.

“It’s early days yet but those locusts of darkness hopping around in my head maybe dwindling.

Those creative juices returned when I sensed your anxiety down the lane because I didn't want two sick people in this house.

But you brought splashes of vivid colour into my drawing room.

I could almost smell the rustic fragrance of every wilting petal and the creaking of every twig.

You set a whole cycle in train.”

Anthea then showed me two items she was working on.

“I have started a rough sketch of the lane you detailed and a short story.

There's been a sea change.” She said.

“Oh I wonder what I'll call this sketch and that short story?

Any ideas?” Anthea enquired.

Fidelma and I looked at each other and spoke almost in unison.

“I think we both have a fair idea what they both might be called.

Your story included.”

A little known shortcut indeed!

Photograph and short story copyright protected to mantrabay