MY LIFE STORY
HERE IS THE FANDOM POST I HAVE BEEN PROMISING. I HAD SAID THAT IT WOULD BE A TWO-PART POST, BUT NOW I AM NOT SO SURE THAT I SHALL DO THE OTHER PART OF IT. IT SEEMS TO STAND QUITE WELL ON ITS OWN.
If you stand outside of the magnificent house, you will see what looks like a forest with a few turrets protruding from the top, barely visible above the tallest trees. Behind you will be the roaring Waterfall, falling into the gurgling Brook that is all life. You yourself will feel enlivened by proximity to this house and these waters. The doors of the house are always wide open, so you can step in without hindrance and make no sound upon your entry if you wish to remain unannounced. You can walk soundlessly through the halls for nows on end and never meet a soul, yet all around you will be alive with wonder. If you walk long enough, you will come upon a small clearing within the Forest-House and see, sitting in a chair, a Person. Shh, now. See, he is reading.
Life turned the page of the large tome on his desk. He swore softly in a voice that was either not quite there or there too much. It was a voice that was laughing and benevolent, timeless and fresh. It was a voice that could, if called upon to do so, echo from one end of time to the other, and reach every place and possibility in between. At the moment, it was a voice that was annoyed with its green-robed, bearded owner. Life turned another page, dissatisfied with the text on the previous one. He studied that page intently. Then, still dissatisfied, he sank his lips into the mold of a frown. He placed a bookmark in the crevice between pages and, leaving the book open, stood from his chair.
His feet padded noiselessly on a carpet like the softest and most yielding grass. His robe rustled against the grass like the branches of a weeping willow. His eyes peered out of an unwary and guileless face that had ceased to frown the moment he had gotten up. His domain loved him -- even the hallways seemed to lean in as he walked through it.
Life arrived at his destination shortly after he had stood up from his book, although time had as little meaning here as in other ethereal realms. The door to this room, if there was one, stood as open as all the others, although the contents were not as readily visible. Life walked in and the entranceway closed behind him.
Inside the room were small eggs, all of different colours, thousands upon millions of the, each egg a possibility. Life took the ones about to hatch into his hands one by one, and blew on each of them gently. Once they had finished hatching, he rubbed off the remaining fragments of their shells.
How many of these souls will die too soon? he wondered idly as he picked up each new lifetimer and made note of them in what was possibly the largest tome in existence. He engraved the name that the newborn would have, then dispatched the timer into Death's keeping.
Life smiled, a bit sadly, as a few timers were returning to him as eggs. New lifetimes waiting to be hatched, new possibilities. He ran his fingers over these and, recognising them as old, familiar souls, placed them on the shelf, in their familiar, well-worn place.
AS BEFORE, CONSTRUCTIVE CRITIQUE WILL BE WELCOMED AND APPRECIATED.
If you stand outside of the magnificent house, you will see what looks like a forest with a few turrets protruding from the top, barely visible above the tallest trees. Behind you will be the roaring Waterfall, falling into the gurgling Brook that is all life. You yourself will feel enlivened by proximity to this house and these waters. The doors of the house are always wide open, so you can step in without hindrance and make no sound upon your entry if you wish to remain unannounced. You can walk soundlessly through the halls for nows on end and never meet a soul, yet all around you will be alive with wonder. If you walk long enough, you will come upon a small clearing within the Forest-House and see, sitting in a chair, a Person. Shh, now. See, he is reading.
Life turned the page of the large tome on his desk. He swore softly in a voice that was either not quite there or there too much. It was a voice that was laughing and benevolent, timeless and fresh. It was a voice that could, if called upon to do so, echo from one end of time to the other, and reach every place and possibility in between. At the moment, it was a voice that was annoyed with its green-robed, bearded owner. Life turned another page, dissatisfied with the text on the previous one. He studied that page intently. Then, still dissatisfied, he sank his lips into the mold of a frown. He placed a bookmark in the crevice between pages and, leaving the book open, stood from his chair.
His feet padded noiselessly on a carpet like the softest and most yielding grass. His robe rustled against the grass like the branches of a weeping willow. His eyes peered out of an unwary and guileless face that had ceased to frown the moment he had gotten up. His domain loved him -- even the hallways seemed to lean in as he walked through it.
Life arrived at his destination shortly after he had stood up from his book, although time had as little meaning here as in other ethereal realms. The door to this room, if there was one, stood as open as all the others, although the contents were not as readily visible. Life walked in and the entranceway closed behind him.
Inside the room were small eggs, all of different colours, thousands upon millions of the, each egg a possibility. Life took the ones about to hatch into his hands one by one, and blew on each of them gently. Once they had finished hatching, he rubbed off the remaining fragments of their shells.
How many of these souls will die too soon? he wondered idly as he picked up each new lifetimer and made note of them in what was possibly the largest tome in existence. He engraved the name that the newborn would have, then dispatched the timer into Death's keeping.
Life smiled, a bit sadly, as a few timers were returning to him as eggs. New lifetimes waiting to be hatched, new possibilities. He ran his fingers over these and, recognising them as old, familiar souls, placed them on the shelf, in their familiar, well-worn place.
AS BEFORE, CONSTRUCTIVE CRITIQUE WILL BE WELCOMED AND APPRECIATED.