Fragments Part 2

A Story by Ryen James

Bits and Bobs Continued

I was just sitting there, on one of those conveniently placed picnic tables they leave outside, the ones with faded plastic coating and dibbled pattern, the kind you saw play structures growing up. They had repainted them, they where getting old and faded that was true, but it was really the graffiti. Y'know "eat your momma's a*****e", "f**k Jesus" For a good time call type stuff, they painted it black to foil felt tip markers and ball points everyway. It was weird being the first one here, it wasn't as if it was quiet you could here planes overhead, Cars rumbling down the street somewhere, and I wasn't completely alone someone had to have unlocked the doors. But for right now it was quiet, calm, and serene, I sat among architectural giants breathing the frost-bitten air, Jack frost nipping at your nose type of thing, It wasn't really that chilly, there's clouds that are over the sun, the wind and dew didn't help wither but it was as cold as morning is usually in spring, more damp than cold. It was light enough, the sun was out some where. beneath its blankets of clouds, It started to rain, rain drops cold and fat dove from the sky plopping around me I...

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7:30 AM

A car pulls up to the store, a silver sedan with bluish gray windows. The shopkeeper climbs out of it his body shows signs of fatigue. Somehow just the sight of him sent out a idea of sore feet and the weight of monotony. He hunched slightly as if carrying a heavy weight, along his shoulders.

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[written in my DnD universe. Frank and Annabelle are characters from a steam punk story]

I just looked [ ] at and smilled "maoooooooow"

Frank looked at Annabelle and smile she was busy staring through the windshield and staring at her navigation equipment.

"Have you figured out where we are?"

"No, not yet"

"Well, I mean. It's not the worst thing"

"What do you mean?

"Well," Frank said "it leaves us sometime for ourselves."

Annabelle looked over and gazed into his eyes in a kind yearning way. She noticed as he draped her hand over his shoulder and leaned in placing her hand on his chest. Then they kissed.

"Frank", Annabelle said.

"Huh", Frank Stuttered.

Annabelle looked at him sharply and intently

Frank blushed inwardly he had been daydreaming, no frank lets be honest, fantasizing about her.

"I figured it out" she told Frank. Her jaw was set, she was serious he had seen her war face to many times not to recognize it. She beckoned to him and he walked over. "See this map", she gestured

"yeah", he looked at a complicated graph of lines, rings, labels, and symbols.

"so, we where trying to reach Janice Ridge", she pointed to one of the large islands in the Marian Ring. "However with the sky pirates and that magnetic storm that hit us yesterday. We definitely are off track. However with that astrolabe and the Barometer that you managed to make

"That you told me to make", Annabelle waved him off.

"I think you should be right about here", She pointed to a different spot on the map.

"Wait what are all those symbols", He pointed to the myriad of red triangles.

"well you not going to like it"

"Try me"

"Gravity Wells"

"Gravity Wells?"

"Pockets of air that have massive oscillated pockets of low and high gravity"

"and that's going to f**k up the engines"

"mmm-hmm and crash us into the ocean."

"fun"

"yup"

"ready to risk our lives, again?"

"ready" she looked at him smiling. He slipped into the Co-Pilot's Seat.

"Let's Go, Anna"

"You too Frank"

They hit the thrust.

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[part of the original script for Frank and Annabelle's Story]

Frank: And if we go higher?

Annabelle: The cabins so big it will take a lot of cracks to depressurize it...

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Adenine Walked into her bedroom. It had been a long day at work. Kicking off her shoes she scrunched her toes in to the soft rug of the apartment has been furnished with. Working at her job was exhausting. A hew more weeks there and she would be liable to slip something into Montgomery's coffee or her own for that matter. Adenine smiled at the thought. Stretching her limbs she walked into her bathroom "Of course it wouldn't look like an Accident".

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The boys where in blue and white stripes. But now they where in tatters. Jonathan mused at a moth hole sticking though his light jacket, cold comfort against the wind, literally. He shuffled his scuffed boots together, hunching closer to the pallid fire. Like everything else in this field it was gray, languid, barely surviving. It seemed almost ironic that the fire cleaning the aftermath of destruction or death survived weakly. As if Death itself was against such renewal. "Jonathan", a voice said bleakly as yet another blackened root was tossed on the Squalled fire. Taking his crutch he stood up, supporting himself against Joseph, Placing the crutch down against the frost-husked ground. He leaned against Joseph, hobbling forward towards an erection some distance away. Thick Sheets and a tented roof marked a sense of importance over that of the small ring of people and fires that marred the murky ground in the field. He leaned against crumbling brickwork. A small empty shell of a house once. now only a foundation and a corner wall. New wine in Old Wineskins. They passed before the threshold, Joseph lifting the sheet so that Johnathan could limp through. The scene seemed to change instantly. The air was stagnant as if the room was holding its breath. Kerosene Lamps Flickered.

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She Walked into the Club

I could tell by the look in

Her eyes she wanted

Free Samples

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The sun shines in the hilly meadow. I can feel it on my back. There are a few maple and elms here. Dotted here and there. The larger trees are behind me leading to the dark woods. Mother forbids me from entering. Down the hill is a very small stream. Barely more than a rivulet but it bubbles and gurgles as well as any brook. Brother Joseph used to play in it when we where small. it was when I was scarce older then three we played in the hills and dalls and ol' Janice tottled after us like a mother hen 'fraid we would fall into a fox burrow or have some other mishap. We where small but lithe and oh, always banging on ourselves, constantly scraping our knees and falling out of trees we climbed. I could climb higher then brother scrabbling higher when his courage failed. Perhaps it is because I do not have a bit of sense , of course of all the things I am , the one things I am least like is a lady. I try my hand at the daintiness and posture. But is seems in my mind that a woman shouldn't be looked at if she is good for nothing. If astounds me that the rich take on so many people to do such simply work. I could not imagine doing nothing all day with people working around me. Today is Sunday though, So I hope that is it in God's good will that I am here far from the evening milking. Mother will not worry she knows of my place and I do have enough sense to walk home before dark. The evening is approaching and the air is filled with dusk light. I can feel night approaching, feel the excitement and gentle buzz that blankets the skin as the sense awake as the whole world slows down to a quiet hum. The light becomes to dim to write. Even in the firelight excitement of the hour. I will stand. Put together my things and walk swiftly, surely home. It seems strange that the hour are eyes loom and sag is the very hour other creatures open their eyes and move. It is like the sun and the moon, two different planets that only see each other on the fringe of ones arrival and the other departure. I see the lantern light over yonder. The sine from my house and home calling me from these distant hills. Still the light is so dim. I must leave or I will lose my footing. Goodbye for now.

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The moon shines, shines on the scene below but yet it does not see what I've done. Not seen what they had done. Not seen what we could have down what could have been done to avoid this. The mood is shining, shining so bright I can almost see it. Can I almost see it? No. I can't, my eyes are open but the world is blind. It has been blind for awhile now. The moon is a fantasy that my mind has given to me. A soothing thought that calms the wounded animal before it dies. The moon is my single lucid thought. The only ting I can focus on a s the warmth leaves my body. The warmth that is my blood and I shut down dragging my body and mind into an atrophied stupor. The moon is the only thing I focus on, even though I've lost my ability to focus. I'm cold, cold all over, I feel my heart giving it's final beats. Perhaps, Perhaps it could have gone better.

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Anger not a red hot raging feeling but the lousy coal dust feel of indignation. Not a seething but an ebbing and flowing. A reddish sepia covering ones mood instead of ones perspective. It seeps into your heart and leeches your previously moods leaving you bitter and with the dry taste of discontent and bitterness in your mouth. This is how I felt. It made my whole countenance grimace in a semblance of anger.