I wrote this for a beautiful, wonderful writer I had met. It was just something playful to help inspire her to not give up on her writing dreams. I had almost lost it in my mountain of email, so I wanted to rescue it.
He gently untied the knot and removed the scarf from her eyes.
“You can look now.”
She blinked and stared around. Her right hand went out to touch the walls of the room. “Where are we?”
“You are in my story. This -- ”, he swept his hand, “is one of my stories. I’m giving it to you.”
“What?” She raised an eyebrow. “You made this?”
“I’m actually making it right now. You are experiencing this place as I write.”
She laughed. She looked at all of the pictures on the walls as she stepped through the room. Her eyes returned to him, her anchor in this strange world. “These are so beautiful. You painted these?”
“In a sense, yes. These pictures are what I am seeing in my mind right now. You are connected body and soul to my mind while you are in this place.”
She marched up to him, and placed her hands on his chest, “That doesn’t make sense. I can feel you. I can feel your heart beat.” She grabbed his hand and placed it against her cheek. His eyes closed. “I’m real, can’t you feel me? I’m not one of your characters in your stories. I’m flesh and blood.”
He breathed slowly. She looked at him, pleadingly and whispered in a small voice, “I’m real.” She reached forward and kissed his lower lip. “Don’t you feel me?”
Confused, he pulled back. “You are real.” He played with his fingers, “ I know this because I’ve spoken with you before. You tell me things I could not possibly have known.” He glanced around the room, “You are real because I’ve held you before.”
He reached out and held her face in his hands. She stepped towards him and placed her own hands over his. He moved his lips to kiss her brow and then whispered into her ear, “You are very real to me. I don’t give into making worlds for phantoms.” He kissed her ear, “but out there, you would never allow me to do this.” He kissed her cheek. Her heart was pounding as he held her securely. His hand went to her shoulders and then he lifted her arms and placed them above her against the wall behind her. “Or this.” He hovered above her lips. Her eyes closed and her mouth hung slightly open.
He let her go. She didn’t move. Her mind would not allow it. Her body ached. It was this place. She thought, “How can this not be real?”
“It’s real because it is in your mind. Right now, there is someone reading this, and you are, for the moment, real in their mind as well.”
“Who’s reading this?”
“Could be any number of people, there is no way of telling. It could be you for all I know. I would hope though, that you would be able to recognize yourself.” He chuckled. “But honestly and truly, it is beyond the things that I can possibly know. The only thing I know for certain is that I was here at its creation.”
He ran his hand up to hers and curled his fingers around hers. Her eyes fluttered open. “I want to show you something.”
The place in which they stood unfolded in front of them. New machines rose from the ground. To one side, tendrils rose from rocks, reaching for each other. Several, then several hundred, then uncountable thousands poured forth into one another, wrapping around each other. What started as a mound of overlapping leathery tentacles became more defined, forming the cushions and armrests of a chair. Stone broke from the floor and formed a desk. Dust trickled from the top until the surface was smoothly polished. He led her to the chair and motioned for her to sit.
“I made this place for you. This desk in front of you is yours. You can come here any time you want.”
She peeked across the desk. It was empty except for a single sheet of paper. It was plain white, but as she watched, black spidery ink poured across its surface, and it read, “How is this happening?” She gasped.
He laughed, “No no, it’s ok. You are here to create. Anything you imagine can be replicated here. That paper simply records your thoughts.”
She turned to him and cocked her head, “My thoughts?”
“Yes. In this place you can create anything. All of the poetry and writing and pictures that you have every imagined or could imagine can be made real when you are here.”
“But I thought that you were writing this story.”
“This story, perhaps.” He pointed at the papers on the desk, for already there was a small stack. “Those, however, are yours.”
She turned to the desk, and leafed through the ream that was so neatly stacked before her. Beautiful pictures. Awful Pictures. Dreams and nightmares from her childhood. "How can these be?" Some of them were all too familiar.
He walked up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “You have to write now.”
“Where will you be?”
“I’ll be here whenever you need me to be.” He placed his final kiss atop her head and released her, “You have to write now.”
She turned around, but he had disappeared.
“Wait. I don’t want this to end. Wait! I’m real! I’m real, aren’t I?”
Weeee! Did this in about 20 minutes! I didn't realize it was part of "Tapestry" until I was at the end. I wrote this to show to a certain someone (named 1more) that I didn't have to be dark all the time. But apparently I do. (sigh). But not too much darkness this time.
Adam clicked his tongue against the top of his mouth, “Jesus, how long has that dude been eating?”
“He got here at ten. Goes to the restroom every five minutes, I swear!” Allie was fidgeting with her apron. “Probably purging what with all the food he’s gone through. I would hate to be the one to have to go in there after him.” She scrunched up her face at Adam.
He waved his hands, “Oh no, I’m not playing. That’s just gross.”
“Well, your shift is starting, go do your thing.” Allie turned back to her duties.
Adam approached the man’s table, which was fortunately off in a corner of its own. No, this was not a man, but a behemoth. No, that’s not fair. He was not so much a behemoth as a big slob. He was large, to be sure, but it was the layers of clothing that affected his “look”. He was a slob covered in terrycloth -- stained terrycloth. He was hunched over feverishly devouring a plate heaping with food piled on top of more food. A wide brim hat hid everything but his bearded chin and lips, seeking their next bite. His gloves had the fingers cut off, but they were as covered in sauce as his fingertips, stained black with soot and food.
“Eh—“, Adam stood next to the table, transfixed by all of the plates heaped to the side. He cleared his throat.
The large man did not stop eating, but did turn to the side to stand up from his table. He took the last fistful of potatoes from his plate. He lifted his head enough to see the young man, smiled and pushed the last of the potatoes in his mouth. His words were muffled, “I’ll be back.” And with that, he lumbered off to the restroom.
Adam took several of the plates from the table and walked them back to the kitchen, laughing to himself at the things he had just witnessed. Along the way, he was stopped by a well dressed man and a young, casually attired woman. “Whoa, she’s pretty hot” he thought to himself.
“Looking for a man. Big. Likes to eat.” The man said, looking through a satchel to retrieve a picture.
“Oh, yeah, I’ve seen him.” He motioned his eyes to the dishes in his hands. Then he flicked his head back in the direction of the restroom, “It’s taken a break, but it will be right back for more, I’m sure.”
The girl looked at the plates and grimaced. “Really? He’s our key?”
The man thanked Adam. “Claire, don’t let Bertrand fool you. He’s quite powerful. Even if he is—“ He looked up as Bertrand exited the restroom and walked up to the buffet for a new helping. “—cheap.”
Bertrand got back to the table with two large plates full of meats and starches. He eyed his two guests, and sat down without an introduction. He began to eat.
“Hey, Bertrand.”
“Geland.” He muttered. He took another mouthful and chewed. “I don’t see food in front of you, so I assume you are in the wrong place.”
Calire sat with disgust. “Really?”
Bertrand stole a glance at Claire. He cleared his throat. “Pretty. Where’d you snatch her from.”
“She found me.” He looked at her, “sort of.”
Bertrand laughed, “I’d warn ye to stay away from this one, li’l girl. Bad karma follows him.”
She wasn’t amused. She just stared at this thing eating. “How can he help anyone but himself.”
Geland tapped his fingers on the table, “Looks can be deceiving. Our friend here –“ He waved to Bertrand, “is a time traveler. One of the few who haven’t gotten themselves killed.”
Bertrand laughed, “I have a system. You need a system to make it work.”
Claire burst out laughing, “Ha! What a load of nonsense.” She scowled, “So as a time god, you sit here and stuff your face? That’s what a time traveler does?”
Bertrand looked at Geland, “When I am in this sanctuary, this is what I do, yes.” He grunted, amused with himself, "A man has to eat sometime."
“You are a slob!” She looked sickened, “You are a disgusting glutton. This is pointless.” She got up to leave.
“No wait.” Geland called to her.
“Let her go.” Bertrand spoke above his chicken wing. “Her home is doomed anyway.”
Claire spun around, “What did you say?” She was fuming, “How dare you. You don’t know me.”
“Maybe I don’t Claire. But I know of you. I know of the town, and of the collapse.”
“Who in the hell are you?”
Bertrand pulled a napkin and wiped his face. He set it on top of his plate and looked at Claire, smoldering. He removed his hat. “I end lives. I save souls. When I am awake, I fight. I scheme against your churches and your institutions. I do not sleep. I have seen the beginning and the end of your world. I have seen the ones who work the threads. I have hated since time began, and I have loved for twice as long." He stood up from the table, “And for five minutes of each day.” He motioned at the table, “I eat. So, enough games, girl.” He turned to his friend, “Tell me Geland. Is this the one you’ve chosen.”
Geland looked at a speechless Claire, “Yes.” He reached for her arm and turned her wrist to show Bertrand. Colored thread was sewn into a strange symbol. “He marked her.”
“Well then, Claire. It seems that while fate may smile fondly on the rest of us, he seems to have taken a more personal interest in you. ” Bertrand retrieved his hat and put it back on his head. “Let us go now.”
Claire, still in shock, red faced with anger and now with embarrassment, she leaned to Geland, “Wait. So he comes to a New England buffet, to the same place, to eat his meals?”
Geland smiled, “I told you he was cheap.”
As the three left the diner, Adam smiled and looked over Allie, who was scrunching up her face in delight to see this saga over. He walked to the table and cleared it of dishes. As he walked back to the kitchen, he did not see Bertrand walk in from the restroom. He didn’t see Bertrand pile food on two new plates. He did not see Bertrand proceed to eat. But he would, soon enough.
