“There was no WWIII. There was no EMP blast. There was just the Rhain, the Fludd, and the Drayn.”
Just to let you know I have not abandoned you, oh reader and friend. Here is a snippet from a scene I am finally pressing through in the Grand Illusion, the sequel to the Grand Attraction:D
It was as one of those moments one finds themselves in an ever-ordinary place only to have the mind explode into unfathomable creativity. The concrete broke like puzzle pieces and the vacant transports of that great mall all lit up. Carls felt the wisp of gentle breeze to his numbing skin—exhausted, bewildered, and breathless did he gaze upon the brilliant hexes of indigo.
“That means we are to pass through Threshold, the small town into which you were to be accepted—only now you have not the stone.”
“Is there no other way around that place?” Mr Fauldon asked.
“You once said honesty was your forte,” said sir Knowington. “It is best to have them know you are in pursuit of fixing the loss rather than simply getting lost in its absence.”
Magnificent it be—the pillars of emerald poised atop the prostrate marble floor.
Violet veins stretched beneath the feet of those blissful minds to dwell.
Such intrigue and by many names did its vast attractions lure;
To its radiant pillars and vibrant halls did man cling in escape of the world’s fall.
-Exert from the Grand Illusion, The Splendor of Illusion
The man stood a proud six feet with a bright pink vest and white collared, blue striped button-up shirt; his couplings were of laden gold airplanes. His checkered pants fit well to his circus-like figure and about his identity was a mouse costume mask—the man must have lost his dignity long ago to dress so bizarrely. And yet he stood composed, his hands propped into the small slits of his pink vest.
Carls was hesitant.
“Do you wish to see my merchandise?” the man asked, a red glove reaching out toward his cart. Carls betrayed a quick glance down at the Hensers. Hensers? He was selling cards?
“The Gambler,” Carls inquired, “do you know him?”
The man’s shoulders lowered, as did his tone. “Oh… so it’s you. Pity… you should have come to me first—for you can only deal with one.” (more…)
We all have illusions–certain scenarios that lure us into an unwanted situation. We have those weaknesses–that caring heart–the often presses us to act unaware of the full circumstance. We all have those choices whose consequences we always hate to face, yet we fall for them again and again. We grow tired, faint, and in need of hope–something to give us strength to press on. Carls Locke, amidst all odds, strives to be that hope. Something inside of him is like that of a spark in a hay-field–he has but yet to fuel it. The hardest part is to endure when hope seems ripped away from you; when at your loss, your expected to help others flourish. It is thus that Locke undergoes himself–a loss so severe and personal to him, it would bear weight for the entirety of his journey, of his purpose, of his hope. (more…)