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I don't know what to say about this Dystopian, Western Fantasy. It's good. Please comment. |
| Everything became dark in an instant. Slowly, a quaint little room appeared, cast in warm firelight and a hazy glow. An old rock chimney sat in the corner, a small fire crackled and popped, bellowing smoke and sparse flames into a sooty flue. The fire began to grow, allowing Deal to see the rest of the room - aided by a bit of imagination. The cozy, log room sat decorated in wall clocks and wooden animals, bits and pieces of rope and canned goods. “Is this Je... Je... Darn it. His home?” he asked himself. A clock began to strike. A kitchen clock on the fireplace mantle echoed back and forth, drawing Deal to the humble tings and pings of its pendulum. A clock to the left brought forth a cuckoo bird, dipping in and out of mystifying doors, making more noise mechanically than the cuckoos’ song had resounded. The cuckoo stopped moving on the last exit, turned and looked at Deal. “Who are you?” asked the green cuckoo, its tiny voice passively filled the room. “I’m a friend of J… J… How come I can’t say his name?” he scolded. “You shouldn’t be here. My master wouldn’t like you barging into his home like this.” said the tiny voice, perceptibly cute by nature. “I can’t help myself. Your master barged into my home and now he’s gone.” said Deal. “I suppose it’s only fair I should be in his.” The fire grew into a nice, toasty-warm ensemble. A pile of logs lay next to the hearth where a mouse now sat atop, chewing a piece of jerky. Its wide eyes looked straight through Deal as it had the least amount of wildness about it, he thought. The mouse stopped chewing, gulped twice to swallow a cheek-pouch full of minced meat and raised its head higher to sniff. “Where’d you come from?” asked the mouse. “I almost didn’t see you there.” “I came in through the pocket of J… J…’s coat.” scoffed the boy. “Would someone please tell me why I can’t say his name? The man is dead, already. I can’t explain how it happened, it just happened.” “Yes.” said the mouse. “There’s strange things going on here that can’t be explained. Say, he’s dead? Hmm. Say how you got here is a mystery?” asked the cheeky, wee mouse fellow. “I’m… I knew your master.” “Not my master.” squeaked the mouse. “My master, because he made my home for me.” said the cuckoo. “And fed me chains to keep me wound tight, upright and singing.” “Anyway,” said Deal. “He’s gone. I can’t explain it. Why am I talking to you two? Is there a woman of the house about?” he asked, turning to scan the small, dimly-lit room. It somehow reminded Deal of his own cabin. “There’s nobody else about.” said the cuckoo. “I’m the woman of the house and Jill here, is the man.” “My name’s not Jill.” squeaked the mouse. “How many times do I have to tell you, it’s Jeffrey.” “But, I like Jill better.” blurted the cuckoo. “It suits you.” “Then your name is ‘That stupid clock’.” screeched Jeffrey. “Why don’t you go back inside and do whatever it is you do in there all day, where you won’t let me see what it is that you’re doing.” The cuckoo backed up into the clock and the doors slammed shut. The little mouse’s ears tweaked about. He stood and signaled for Deal to come closer. The boy stepped to the wood pile and bent over, almost within reaching range of the little mouse’s hands. He squeaked into Deal’s ear, causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand at attention. The cuckoo came out again and chimed the hour, even more loudly than before. “Cuckoo… Don’t listen to him he’s… Cuckoo… I swear, that Jill is… Cuckoo…” counted the cuckoo. “Mind your own business.” squeaked Jeffrey. “It’s not even time for you yet.” Deal stood and laughed. The cuckoo sat on the end of her perch admiring him. Deal held a hand out for her and she hopped aboard a finger. The tiny wooden feet clung tight. He winced in pain. The boy pulled her closer to get a good look at the carved body and unique green upon green sheen. “Do you have a name?” he asked. “Only my master calls me by name.” she replied. “Her name is Gladys.” interrupted the mouse. “Call her Gladys and you’ll never be rid of her.” “I’ll call you by a new name then.” said Deal. “How about Connie? Since you’re so fond of calling Jeffrey, Jill, I’ll call you Connie and… not the other.” The little wooden cuckoo’s head turned to each side as she tried to see Deal with one eye and then the other, rotating back and forth. She blinked once per eye as the little head oscillated, as though she wanted to picture a better mental image of Deal. “My name is… Connie.” she tweeted. “Will you pull my chains and feed me?” she asked, picking up wings and flapping over and over, faster and faster. Connie left the finger and flew back to the little, golden perch poking out of the exquisitly-carved, tiny, wooden house. Deal pulled the chain down until it clicked. The other chain recended inside the clock. The long chain almost touched the floor now. Connie winked and regressed into the double-doors, leaving Jeffrey and Deal staring with wonder. “She’s gone.” said Jeffrey. “Pick me up and walk straight through the mirror.” Deal grabbed the mouse and held him in the cup of his hand, walked across the room to the mirror and finally noticed his younger reflection. His face bore dimples where scars had been. The bad eye; now the same as the good eye, if only on the other side. No lines remained across the forehead, no receding hairline to shine like the sun. Brown hair stood where gray had once lain. No beard, no mustache, only peach-fuzz growing from a dimpled chin and sparkling white teeth revealing a brilliant grin. He perked up, shrugged shoulders once or twice and reached into the mirror. The hand went straight through and out the other side of the dark pocket. Deal emerged, a free man once more as his body grew in size and took shape to stand beside the chair. Jeffrey also grew, pouncing out of Deal’s hand and onto the floor. He grew so fast and tall, that a fully clothed human stood beside Deal, complete with a scarf and beard, and wide eyes glaring into Deal’s face from slightly higher above. “Well, that was interesting.” said Jeffrey. “Never, I repeat, never piss off a Threader. Sheesh…” He tapped the rim of his cap, pulled off the scarf and stuffed it in his pocket and made for the door. He left it standing wide open in a flurry of thuds and grunts. “Oh look, a horse.” he said. Deal stood in the doorway and saw the man running after Jezebel, whom ran from him as well. She ran in circles, kicking up dust and hind legs as he tried in vain to grab her. Exhausted, Jeffrey gave up. “I don’t think I really need a horse after-all.” he tipped a hat brim to Deal and continued off into the forest. Jezebel galloped to the cabin, stopped and brayed a few times, expecting the boy to understand. He smiled; glad to see her resist the stranger. He could trust she'd always do the right thing. “Good horse, Jezebel. You’re a good horse.” |
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