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I'm tired and I just wrote this.
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It was time to live a new life. A romantic life. Balance would come from that, it had to.
Grix, who had gained a taste for dust after experimenting with the ground, had been licking the marble floor for what seemed like a few hours, but was nowhere near that. It had turned from simple 'trying to find stronger tastes' to a curled up lazy fox sleeping on the cold floor.
When he woke unable to remember where he was, Grix jumped up, his heart beating like a drumming monkey, and clamboured out of the room and into the hallway. He looked at himself. A fox in a duffle coat and a homemade belt for blue trousers.
He looked around.
He was in a mansion. Or a castle. Maybe it was a castle. It was old, whatever it was. Carved and stained wooden stairways winded down to the floor below, with a red and black swirl marking the hall floor below. The only light was from the sun streaming in through the gaps in the boards over the windows.
It was also windy. There seemed to be a gust of wind coming from somewhere, sending Grix's fur to ripples every other moment. An awful amount of dust for a distinct lack of people, Grix thought. He remembered back to falling asleep on the ground... maybe it wasn't really dust but some other dry tasting material. He'd have to research it. Maybe the castle had a library.
The source of the wind seemed to be coming from a large passageway on the other side of the top of the hall. An investigation seemed prominent.
The door led to a spiral staircase. The spiral staircase (with lanterns ready to be lit if he was ever to host a party) led up to stronger winds.
And in turn, to a small corridor. At the end of the corridor lay what was obviously meant to be a wall. Where the wall was meant to be, lay the remains of a wall.
Grix wondered what had happened. It was almost as if someone had charged full pelt at it with determination to knock it down.
It led to a wooden platform surrounded by the large stone outer walls, seemingly built after the inner wall was knocked down. Who knew. Grix stepped out onto it.
The view was of the forest. Trees and trees, some trees and lots of trees and sky. There was civilisation between the trees and the sky somewhere. He'd visit one day.
Grix looked at the platform he stood on. He needed a desk, definitely.
Furniture lay around the castle, still there from it's previous owner. I guess if you're going to abandon a castle, then you're not going to bother bringing your furniture with you.
Fortunately, one of the rooms just down the corridor contained a small writing desk. It was full of paper, and a little ink well and cobwebbed pen sat upon it. The room seemed red, very red. The carpet looked unlickable.
Grix dragged the writing desk out of the office, dragged it down the corridor to the sound of wood rubbing against carpet.
He lifted it up over the rubble of the remains of the wall, and pushed it against the large stone wall outside, near the edge of the platform. He admired it for a moment, then stepped back inside to return to the office.
Grix discovered ink supplies, then dragged a wooden chair with a little red cushioned seat out to the wooden platform. He placed it next to the desk, then sat to it.
He looked to his left, out over the forest and the sun.
Grix took the pen, found paper in the drawers of the desk. He wrote, with the ink, "Does this castle belong to anyone?"
He then folded the page into a paper aeroplane, stood up, and threw it out of the platform. He peered over the edge as it half glided and half plummeted towards the forest.
Grix chewed his lip, then ventured back into the corridor.
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It was time to live a new life. A romantic life. Balance would come from that, it had to.
Grix, who had gained a taste for dust after experimenting with the ground, had been licking the marble floor for what seemed like a few hours, but was nowhere near that. It had turned from simple 'trying to find stronger tastes' to a curled up lazy fox sleeping on the cold floor.
When he woke unable to remember where he was, Grix jumped up, his heart beating like a drumming monkey, and clamboured out of the room and into the hallway. He looked at himself. A fox in a duffle coat and a homemade belt for blue trousers.
He looked around.
He was in a mansion. Or a castle. Maybe it was a castle. It was old, whatever it was. Carved and stained wooden stairways winded down to the floor below, with a red and black swirl marking the hall floor below. The only light was from the sun streaming in through the gaps in the boards over the windows.
It was also windy. There seemed to be a gust of wind coming from somewhere, sending Grix's fur to ripples every other moment. An awful amount of dust for a distinct lack of people, Grix thought. He remembered back to falling asleep on the ground... maybe it wasn't really dust but some other dry tasting material. He'd have to research it. Maybe the castle had a library.
The source of the wind seemed to be coming from a large passageway on the other side of the top of the hall. An investigation seemed prominent.
The door led to a spiral staircase. The spiral staircase (with lanterns ready to be lit if he was ever to host a party) led up to stronger winds.
And in turn, to a small corridor. At the end of the corridor lay what was obviously meant to be a wall. Where the wall was meant to be, lay the remains of a wall.
Grix wondered what had happened. It was almost as if someone had charged full pelt at it with determination to knock it down.
It led to a wooden platform surrounded by the large stone outer walls, seemingly built after the inner wall was knocked down. Who knew. Grix stepped out onto it.
The view was of the forest. Trees and trees, some trees and lots of trees and sky. There was civilisation between the trees and the sky somewhere. He'd visit one day.
Grix looked at the platform he stood on. He needed a desk, definitely.
Furniture lay around the castle, still there from it's previous owner. I guess if you're going to abandon a castle, then you're not going to bother bringing your furniture with you.
Fortunately, one of the rooms just down the corridor contained a small writing desk. It was full of paper, and a little ink well and cobwebbed pen sat upon it. The room seemed red, very red. The carpet looked unlickable.
Grix dragged the writing desk out of the office, dragged it down the corridor to the sound of wood rubbing against carpet.
He lifted it up over the rubble of the remains of the wall, and pushed it against the large stone wall outside, near the edge of the platform. He admired it for a moment, then stepped back inside to return to the office.
Grix discovered ink supplies, then dragged a wooden chair with a little red cushioned seat out to the wooden platform. He placed it next to the desk, then sat to it.
He looked to his left, out over the forest and the sun.
Grix took the pen, found paper in the drawers of the desk. He wrote, with the ink, "Does this castle belong to anyone?"
He then folded the page into a paper aeroplane, stood up, and threw it out of the platform. He peered over the edge as it half glided and half plummeted towards the forest.
Grix chewed his lip, then ventured back into the corridor.
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Don't clear things up, it keeps the mystery about it all and lets everyone interpret things differently.
When I read anything you ever write, I try to think of the weirdest, most unusual and twisted things. Because nothing is ever worth taking at face value.
When I read anything you ever write, I try to think of the weirdest, most unusual and twisted things. Because nothing is ever worth taking at face value.
Pft, who knows... :)
My excuse is this... Grix notices and sees things very differently to how normal people would see them. And anyway, ink supplies was just a draw full of ink bottles. Sorry to confuse you. :D
My excuse is this... Grix notices and sees things very differently to how normal people would see them. And anyway, ink supplies was just a draw full of ink bottles. Sorry to confuse you. :D
Well what does an ink supply look like? Have you ever just discovered an ink supply?
Of course with all the destruction in the castle area I semi expected it to be the dripping blood of a corpse.
Of course with all the destruction in the castle area I semi expected it to be the dripping blood of a corpse.
Ooh, I'm interested.
Why did you think that was symbolism?
[And thanks people, Incognito Magnificent is the new name for Amneshire, I think. Settling around that, anyway. This is taken from a scene near the beginning of the middle of the story.]
Why did you think that was symbolism?
[And thanks people, Incognito Magnificent is the new name for Amneshire, I think. Settling around that, anyway. This is taken from a scene near the beginning of the middle of the story.]
That was cool. Really bizarre but cool.
Ink supplies? Just "supplies"? Clearly symbolism but of what?
Ink supplies? Just "supplies"? Clearly symbolism but of what?
I really enjoyed that.
The strangeness of it all, licking marble floors, and the thought of unlickable carpets.
What I needed after a long week.
The strangeness of it all, licking marble floors, and the thought of unlickable carpets.
What I needed after a long week.
Thanks for posting. The reason I like this and most of the stuff you write is it has an effortless peculiarity and "lightness of touch" about it.
But that's enough of compliments from me; I have my Doctor of Darkness image to live up to.
But that's enough of compliments from me; I have my Doctor of Darkness image to live up to.
And thanks! Goddamnit I keep forgetting to say thanks.
Well that's a bit of confidence for me. :)
That was indeed "magnificent". You are an inspiration to me.
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