Thursday, January 15, 2009

I Heart Fan Mail

It's a wonderful feeling when you get your first fan mail. Recently I have been getting a bunch and would like to thank all of you who have written me wonderful comments. My partner in crime Adri Leya who you know from Happy Blogtime is in the same boat. The other day she had one of her fans send her a story he had written about her. A lovely man by the name of John Hulme wrote it based off one of her blogs. I left a comment saying I wish my fans wrote me stories. Being such a nice guy John saw that and wrote me my own story. Thank you John for that. Click read more to read the story.



Painting the undiscovered circus
by John Hulme


Most mornings just used to tease her awake,
wiping away the layers of limbo with gentle strokes across her eyelashes.

But not this one.

She seemed to tumble out of her dream
as though she had been kicked unceremoniously through a window.

And maybe she had.

There seemed to be pieces of broken glass and crystal scattered all over the floor,
nestled into the bedclothes
and hanging roughly from a sore, sleep-mangled arm
that now hung limp and useless over the side of the bed.

Dammit!

She was still in her dream body -

the one she kept hidden beneath her everyday skin
to keep the circus moving when nobody else was home -

like a china doll booby-trapped with secret alarms
and music boxes.

As she lay there,
letting the daytime skin roll up over her secret toy mechanisms
and melody lines,
she knew that the shattered arm would not heal.

It would just wither and corrode in the dirty city air,
flopping pathetically by her side,
and everybody would finally get to see just how different she really was.

They wouldn't be spellbound by the craftsmanship,

or drawn in by the intricate songs thant danced,
oh so delicately across her fingertips.

Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!

It was not good to feel them so acutely -
not this early in the morning, anyway -
and she could feel the tears welling up around her eyes.

That was when she noticed how the air was dancing,
a chorus of tiny particles pirouetting in a shaft of sunbeam from the window.

The sun was particularly strong that morning,
and the intense refraction had torn a wide spectrum of colous from the starlit air.

Reaching her free hand into the beam,
she pulled out some reds, yellows, a hint of orange and mauve,
and began mixing a small cocktail of vibrant light-fibre inks
with which to paint her arm.

Now, when people looked at her arm,
they would see an artwork,
a stave of clockwork music woven into starburst colour,
and the small proud flag
of an undiscovered circus.

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