A Princess and Misplaced. from the vault, 2009

I don’t write short stories. This is based on a dream i had, and wrote about in 2009. there is a story in there if you look hard enough, but its all together abstract. i found this in an old notebook and liked it a lot in retrospect.the dream was righteous and nonsensical, in which i was collecting small wooden figures in order to save and release the greek princess Persephone from Hades. so unedited, enjoy…

that stranger approached from my blindside abroad and with a shoulder grip begged my presence.
“please! at once upon request, a man due east and north takes solace in your mind.” so blessed be the day we fell to, close in stride. this home, this lounge and office with artifacts abundant glaring decadence, carpeted in culture, the walls all stoned maroon while subtle moons askew shone through few windows in corridors of tasteful sanity and brick. we spoke in words of glory days once passed, and proof the earth, for centuries has bled and drew her breath exhaling to the populous, all shores accounted for. we dreamt a cloud of ancient days and sharp tongues, people immersed in people and broad shouldered gods promising the earth. thus, he presented me with purpose and prestige, an ornament of which a goal was set to be achieved. i then displayed the pouch and laid out six sisters, wooden women of no age. six plus his, a family minus one, the patriarch of prisoners and spirits, a guard of dames in a world without a name. with speed i too the task, to find a father lost and never found. digging, sifting, searching through the ground in mines and caves, a mind on infamy and names not spoken since people lived with grace. alas, no luck and no location. in desperate times, desperate measures called, i called to arms with self and bottomed out when the shelves all fell, those starry eyed demands of mine went out. its the end they always claim, when revelry is shone, this case my own; and so on, once upon my dusty soul, a visitor from a shadow stepped into the cold. the old vagrant dimly lit the night around him. a profile disgraced, a character that knew no mothers touch or the horror in his gently scarred, abrasive face. in a moments notice a claw protruded from a blackened, burnt end sleeve. handed off the missing piece, and in his heart exposed the truth. pieces of eight now set in place, a family and estate. a goddess delivered in faith, and blood restored to live a fate her own. never once clandestine, forever predestined.

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