Appar
"You aren't going anywhere. You're dead. You're mine."
"He may go wherever he wants."
"*ghk**sweatdrops* This is my world. I rule here. You have no power here. Leave this place--now!"
*GUNDAM EYES*
"Sir? Who are you?"
"Just one with an..interest...in tales."
"I am the prince of this world."
"And I am the Prince of Stories. The boy is under my jurisdiction, not yours.
"Come with me, Prez Rickard."
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DEEP BLUE
Sunny Driver works for the government.
Legally, that is all we can say about the nature of her job. But everything contained within this article is common knowledge anyway. Hiding it would be a disservice to the cause. We’re going speak about it openly.
Anomalies exist. There are people tasked with discovering and containing said anomalies. Sunny is one of those people.
She came to us with a story regarding her work and the sudden appearance of lake.
…
Belcot is the picture of modern suburbia, if you’ve never been. Rows of copycat houses and the odd tree every thirty feet. Asphalt roads connect you everywhere, whether to your neighbor’s house or the grocery store or the family-owned bowling alley. There isn’t much room for nature to just…do it’s thing.
I got the call around 2:43 pm on a Thursday. Just finished up lunch at Riley’s and was getting situated in my car. Something bout a secret lake appearing smack dab in the middle of town. I immediately wondered about pocket dimensions or parallel realities. How much was disrupted? Had anyone been displaced? Either way it wasn’t something you mess with.
So I rushed to the location pinged on my phone. Paved road turned to dirt as I drove through thick trees. And soon, I passed a neat little sign, carved in stone.
WELCOME TO TUNNEL LAKE
I pulled into the parking lot and walked along the wooden fence to a sandy path. And at the end, there I saw it. That enigma of a lake. Calm. Pristine. A brilliant cerulean so blue it almost looked fake. And in the middle, a small cone shaped island blanketed in lime green moss.
The scene in sunlight made my eyes hurt. I blinked twice to readjust. That’s when I noticed a pair at the water’s edge. A mother and her daughter minutely inspecting their canoe. A long, skinny thing mostly made out of metal. The silver sheen worn to dull gray. But from my viewpoint, looked sturdy enough.
I went up to them. Introduced myself. Asked them if they knew this lake was anomalous, possibly (probably) dangerous.
The daughter had a blank stare, which bore into me. The mother quickly filled the gap in conversation. She questioned whether their boat could withstand the depths of the expanse. Would it be to small and among other things, would they find favor in the courts of Ival-Frike?
I smiled.
This kind of word salad is not uncommon among displaced folk. The brain can’t process the eco-shift and thus, will vomit bits of disconnected input received. I tried to be calm. I asked for more information. I tried to help them understand where they ended up.
But she was different. She was rigid in her convictions
The mother stepped in front of her daughter, arms stretched out. She said I’d interrupted her neuroplasmic field. I again asked her what that was supposed to mean. She pointed to the device I held in a holster around my left thigh. It reads the grade of anomalies. It was beeping incessantly. The daughter continued to stare. In fact, had not spoken a word this whole time.
The mother declared there was no time left to worry about their boat. They would go on foot. They walked directly into the lake and the lake swallowed them whole. I tried to stop them. They sank like rocks. I couldn’t see them through the deep, dark expanse of blue.
While I sat there transfixed by water, another car drove up. A family van. The mom poked her head out the car window and called out to me “Hey! Is this Tunnel Lake?”
Nothing is more dangerous than treating an anomaly as benign. It’s like feeding the monster. You’ll see it’s weird power grow beyond your ability to contain. Beyond your ability to comprehend. You should never do it. Ever.
But sometimes…
It’s already too much. It’s already taken root.
And the bad, bad words pour out your mouth. Words like:
“Yeah! Come on in, the water’s great.”
…
Tunnel Lake is a Class R-grade 9.758 anomaly. For your own safety, we cannot recommend visitation. Unless, of course, you are looking to disappear.
There’s been plenty of those as of late.
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i love it so much when greek drama uses the metaphor of a bird lamenting her lost young in situations where it's manifestly inappropriate, like when the chorus of the agamemnon compares the menelaus' loss of helen to the anger of eagles whose chicks have been killed (ignoring the person who has actually lost her child and to whose grief the image might be more fitting). and then when the chorus compares cassandra's lament to the nightingale's mourning for her child itys, when cassandra's sorrows in fact stem from the fact that she did not "come to the point of having children" with apollo, and when the guard in antigone calls her screams over polynices "the sharp cry of an embittered bird when she sees the cradle of her empty nest bereft of her chicks" and then antigone herself later delivers a long lament that makes a point of having never had the opportunity to even have children, let alone lose them...
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