The walking stick


The Citified Mountains Road

There was this thing about blogging that someone said, something about being passionate enough about what one is writing not to bore oneself out. Somehow one way or another that makes complications. What if the things one is passionate about are so special one is almost afraid to share them? What if they make one Scared and Wumpless? And cringing and sad.

Anyway. To continue the tale of Ms. Thatwackyperson.

The late evening sun sat on some pinkish purpling clouds, like a burning fiery tomato. Ms. Thatwackyperson had always loved tomatoes. She stood looking out at the swirling burning sky. In her right hand was a carved walking stick. It was a normal rather boring stick left behind by an elderly relative, in the last rather explosive meeting of Ms. Thawtackyperson and her beloved blood tied people. Ah well.

In the late reddish light, the stick seemed to burn fiery as well. Colours gleamed off it, strange purple and greenish glints, and hints of copper and silver. It was almost as if the stick was carved out and painted in a riot of blinding beautiful things. Almost. Not runes, or strange symbols that later turned out to be part of some ancient script that turns the world upside down, on to the point of an apocalypse. Not anything like that. Thankfully, thought Ms. Thatwackyperson. In more ways than just because of the cliché of the whole idea, the blatant holeewood style, in a story of her life, no less. No. No way. No apocalyptic post dystopian whatever future, where time almost runs out for some young super children, who just manage to save the world, at the cost of several tragic young deaths. And then have the honor of a cheesy film made out for them. Buloogeyyyuck!

She peered closely at the stick, through large sideways-pear shaped glasses. The lenses were very blurred and fogged up, which may have accounted for her seeing the tiny little pictures etched out in faded ink on the stick. Wow, she thought. This was simply beautiful.

Tiny little plants wove around painted village houses, with pear-shaped roofs. A river wound its way past, a nice deep bluish grey. Tiny boats seemed to flow with the river, carrying on to a garden, some distance downstream. The garden was blurred, as if the painter had sploshed on random brush strokes of water over the garden. Little lights glistened in the blurry trees and bushes and shrubs. Bright red flowers were scattered around in a highly flavored mess. The river wound past it, and disappeared into the ground. A small pathway made of wood led away from the garden, to a ladder on a tree. On top of the ladder was a tiny little balloon, which seemed to float off into the reddish sunset. And the river appeared again, this time black in the darkened world, with little white lights glinting, glittering in it. At last it came, to the place they were going, she was sure of it. A huge old fashioned building, with spires and spirals, and onion domes, and pyramid shaped domes as well. Giant, at least fifty stories high. Lighting swirled around in the painted black sky. As it should, though Ms. Thatwackyperson. There was always lightning in a good scary place.

“Oi! This is epic! Take my pic!” a sudden loud, and rather young voice yelled.

Ms. Thatwackyperson gave a start that she conveniently exaggerated into a neat surprised jump.

She turned around. Where was she? AH yes on the edge of the mountain road. The mountains in this range were tame citified overlarge lumps of mud. They stretched up to maybe the height of a forty story building, and were still being cut down to suit the large forty story apartments sprouting all over them. Which brought groups of incongruous people up the once isolated roads. Like these teenagers, oh and their grandparents too, she thought noting the stooped figure standing in the shadows of the young exuberant little people.

“This sunset is epic! This is so cool! Hey, Dashao! Get yourself here, man!”

“It would be cool as a rocker background. Or frunk-gloth!” “Yea! Frunk-gloth! Totally!”

“Mr. Weeblezspud, could we stay here for a while? It’s just too epic. And we’ll use it for the project.”

“Ah sur- “

“Hey!” A surprised shout cut the old man off. “ Is that a lady?” “Where? What?” “- standing there- there on the edge.” “ Oh my how weirrdddd..”

The moment had come. Ms. Thatwackyperson couldn’t resist. She raised her voice, making it nice and girly, and a little too high pitched. “ Well my dear dearies, what brings you here? DO you WISH to KNOW?” Raising and lowering her voice alternately, in a long drawling tone. “ Do NOT befriend THE leep-DE-lop! Or the Narcimbob!”

“Ack it-she talks! She’s real! Um sorry um what??” “Know what?”

“TOO late my dears. Too LATE. The sun is gone. AHahahHAheehooooooohaaa!” The echoes of her laughter around the cliffs came back on and on, whirling around, whirling, hitting their ears. “Ouch. I think I overdid that.”, muttered Ms. Thatwackyperson. “Um sorry. My dears sorry.” She smiled in the darkness. “I couldn’t resist that bit of fun. Erm. Maybe you’ll understand when you’re my age.”

“Let me introduce myself. I am Ms. Thatwackyperson. Don’t worry, i’m just a normal hazel nut out here on the mountain roads.”

“As if that’s any better,” whispered the boy wanting his picture taken.

“Oh um. Ahem. Anyway I was just on my way home. See you dears. Toodloooo. Have fun.” Ms.Thatwackyperson turned around and walked quickly into the bluish greyish darkness. The shadow she made seemed to pause a little next to the old stooped man. The hand of her shadow stretched out, passing a long stick-like thing to the shadow of the old stooped man. A faint whisper heard only by the clifftops, “Here’s your stick, old thing. It was interesting, thanks.” And then suddenly, silently, the night fell completely.

“Hey wait. She said she was going home… so why did she go up the mountain road? Deeper into those wild scary real mountains, that aren’t just citified lumps of mud?” The question hung out in the air. It blurred and shivered and seemed to ring and echo in the silence. Maybe because the speaker was a slight wisp of a girl who never spoke. Or maybe just maybe, something truly strange had just been with them, affecting them in a way they couldn’t quite understand…

About theshadowsofthenight

An amateur writer and amateur artist :)
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