#in like. the murkiest place imaginable

[razzle-zazzle]

Imagine Dion takes the place of the mc from Subnautica. I wonder how he would react to everything, especially the leviathans lol. Any hc's?

Okay okay so. I've had a lot of thoughts on how to do this.

Originally, I approached the idea with the same mindset as the Terraria crossover: isekai a bunch of characters onto 4546B and not let them go home until the game is completed.

But a major theme of Subnautica is the isolation; a big group, while it would lend itself well to shenanigans, would undermine that. So I felt that I should tighten the group, then, down to two or three or one. And of course the self-indulgent creature in me immediately gravitated to my favorite trio (Dion, Morris, Gisu) and came up with a lot of shenanigans based on that idea (Gisu trying to bring the fabricator and other tools home to study, Dion having any interaction with the reapers, Morris coloring all of their vehicles the most obnoxious color combinations he can think of, clown car seamoth, etc).

Except,,,, the world of Subnautica and the world of Psychonauts are vastly different. Just throwing characters from one world into another could definitely be fun, but it just didn't feel right???

So the obvious conclusion would be a fusion; Psychonauts characters who grew up in the world of Subnautica, who grew up with the context of Alterra and space travel and everything else going on. This would mean no "post-PN2 Dion is thrown onto a water world and has a Terrible Time", but it would make the most sense, story-wise.

But that opens another problem. What makes Dion all that different from Ryley, then, in this hypothetical AU? Oh, sure, Dion would have a much different temperament, but a Dion who grew up without a lot of the context from Psychonauts that shapes his character, who grew up familiar with Alterra technology and safe enough around water to get a posting on the Aurora—it could be hard to really differentiate him from a stock protagonist.

With all that said, I'm still a self-indulgent little creature at heart, so;

<+><+><+><+><+>

Alterra doesn't accept minors. Not for off-world postings. Not for dangerous jobs or long hours.

And the Aquatos are cursed, anyway, when it comes to space travel. Dion's grandparents left the planet, and look what happened to them. His great aunt was never really the same after her return—or so Dion's father has always claimed. Dion wasn't alive for the Valermo Incident—his father was barely even a teen, then, young and small and disbelieving in curses.

But the truth remains that Lucrecia gets worse every year. The truth remains that his father spends just as much time tending to her as he does working; that his mother has to split her time between her job and her children. The truth remains that what they earn isn't enough, and the Aquatos won't be able to afford Lucrecia's medical bills for much longer.

On-world postings pay well enough, but only for adults. There are sanctions and rules on how long minors can work and how much they can earn. Dion couldn't even get a job until he was fourteen, and he can't get the well-paying postings as a minor.

On-world postings pay well enough—

But off-world postings pay so much more. The credits paid for even the most basic off-world posting would cover the medical bills at least.

(Last year, Raz ran off to see the office of his heroes, and somehow got away with it. They'd tracked him down after a week. After a week of Raz somehow being employed and actually earning credits—

It hadn't worked out in the end. The Aquatos are cursed, and Alterra has strict child labor laws. Some people still think that the family had sent Raz off to lie on purpose.)

Dion can work his little office job all he wants; it's never going to be enough. He can do everything he can within the hours he's allowed to work; his wage will never change. Not until he's older. Not until he's eighteen.

Dion has always looked older than he is—it's something he's always shared with his father. He feels older, too, sometimes, when the extra responsibility of being the eldest settles in his bones. Family friends always comment on what a respectable young man he's becoming, on how mature he is, how old he looks and acts—

Alterra doesn't accept minors for off-world postings. The Aquatos are cursed when it comes to space travel.

Dion fills out the forms anyway. Runs away—(traitor, some part of his mind whispers, the family's supposed to stick together, what are you doing)—and manages to get a posting. It feels like he's going to get caught immediately. It feels like he might actually be able to do something to help. It feels like a rush and a chilling dread all at once.

His first few postings don't amount to much—he's a member of the nonessential systems maintenance crew, on his first ship. A glorified janitor. But he works hard, and he sets aside his earnings to send to the family once he's old enough to avoid getting in trouble. When the ache in his chest flares up and homesickness takes him by the shoulders, he reminds himself that he's doing it all for them. He's earning credits for the family, and they'll have one less mouth to feed in his absence. He's doing it for them.

(Some small part of Dion, the part that marvels at the vastness of the cosmos and the brightness of stars, knows that that's not entirely true. He's doing it for them, for Lucrecia and Mom and Dad and Fraze and Raz and Tala and Queeps, but he's doing this for himself, too.)

Four months pass. The opportunity for a new posting arrives. A transfer to a new ship—the Aurora—and a promotion to nonessential systems maintenance chief. It barely means anything, just a little extra pay for a lot more work.

Dion takes it, and prays his luck continues to hold. Nothing's gone terribly wrong yet, and he hasn't been found out, either. Maybe everything will work out.

(He should have known better. The Aquatos are cursed.)

[presumenothing]

(thought too much about this. accidentally wrote fic. you know how it is)

“I’ve been thinking, Uncle Ning,” Sizhui begins.

Wei Wuxian would’ve pulled a face: oh, you don’t want to do that! – like he hadn’t singlehandedly invented multiple things that had made Sizhui’s jaw actually drop a little even before he understood anything about the desperately rushed circumstances most of them had been created under.

Wen Ning just turns to glance at him, quiet and attentive. It reminds him more than a little of Hanguang-jun, but that’s neither here nor there.

“Forgive me if I’m overstepping my boundaries,” Sizhui continues, which is not actually stalling because he really is being presumptuous here, but still. Get on with it, he tells himself sternly. “Would it be at all permissible for me to teach some of the Wen sword style to my friends? Jingyi, and the others.”

There’s the barely-visible flicker of fondness (also familiar, though the reasons here are physical instead) that his uncle can’t seem to help showing whenever Jingyi is mentioned; as far as Sizhui has been able to decipher, it’s partly because Jingyi is not entirely unlike how Senior Wei was in his younger days.

Sizhui can’t even disagree with that assessment.

But then Wen Ning’s expression settles back into something heavier. “And- um. Sect Leader Jin?”

Sizhui gives in to the wince that Wen Ning would probably be making if he were capable of it.

What about Jin Ling, indeed. Jingyi’s already pouted enough about Wen Ning only teaching him that his answer would be obvious, and Zizhen will probably be open to the idea as long as they swear up and down not to breathe a word to his father, but – that still leaves the biggest question of all.

His imagination of Senior Wei is correct. Thinking is a frustrating exercise. “I don’t know. Only if he actually wants to learn, and then only if it’s appropriate.”

Which sounds absurd, even to himself. Is there anything appropriate about this? Even the thousands of Lan sect precepts and likely the entire contents of their library (and then some) has little in the way of helpful advice in navigating relations where this many complications are involved.

It’s times like this that he wishes Zewu-jun wasn’t still in seclusion, though possibly Sect Leader Jiang might have the more brutal insight to a topic like this.

Sizhui would rather throw himself into the murkiest lakes of Yunmeng a hundred times over than ask for any of it.

Maybe this is a bad idea after all. Especially when he doesn’t necessarily have a good reason for it, not really, beyond that the Wen, for everything else that they’d been, were family.

A different kind of family than he has been so generously bestowed with at the Cloud Recesses, certainly, and maybe all that ties him back to the Wen now is just the blood still running through his veins. A trifling matter, in contrast to all the greater injustices that may never be fixed, even decades from now.

And yet –

And yet this much is within his meagre power, to make it so that perhaps their legacy will not solely be one Lan disciple, one fierce corpse (who is nevertheless a very good uncle, Sizhui adds loyally), and a name that is still spat with burning vitriol more often than not.

That is, if Wen Ning doesn’t refuse. Which he is well within his rights to, though from the slight knit of his eyebrows his thoughts don’t seem to be running in that direction.

That’s confirmed a moment later when he speaks, words slow and careful. “I don’t want you to get into trouble. You- you are already enough. More than enough.”

Sizhui has a lot of practice in not letting things show on his face, even heartbreak at what sounds a lot like more family than I’d ever expected to have again in this life. It’s a feeling he knows from the inside. “Don’t worry. I’ve learned a lot about getting out of trouble, too.”

The corner of Wen Ning’s eyes crinkle in the way that means his uncle is smiling back at him. “Then, A-Yuan – Lan Sizhui,” he corrects, each syllable of his name its own weight, and Sizhui’s breath catches a little as Wen Ning draws himself up to the height that everyone always forgets he has unless they’ve run screaming from the Ghost General. “On behalf of the sect, I, Wen Qionglin, do hereby permit you to teach the style of the Qishan Wen to whoever you see fit, so long as it is in the service of good.”

They are both still kneeling. It would be very inappropriate to follow up his bow with a hug, but Sizhui very much wants to do it anyway. “This nephew will do everything possible to honour that trust,” he replies, because thank you seems too little.

“You already honour us. More than- than you could ever know,” Wen Ning says, halting stutter creeping back in place of the earlier measured weight, and Sizhui ducks his head at a tentative pat to hide the glimmer of tears in his eyes.

(It will be worth trying, even if Jin Ling decides not to speak to him for a year or more. This is something worth trying for.)

.

.

(AO3)

[kneipho]

Hope Springs Eternal Part Two.

--

One should be cognizant of tread marks of a different kind that await all of us.

But attitude is key. A timeless trait.

More fodder this for that colourful cryptic creation I’m churning about in my brain.

One could not help but notice the dwellings in this compact charming but claustrophobic town.

They were spreadeagled to a fault with scant regard for privacy or personal space.

Neighbours like nodding polders wave from their aluminum polycarbonate verandas.

The sort with integrated guttering and moulded frames.

All packed together like crates in a warehouse.

A carbon copy of some construction company’s catalogue.

The trailing shrubs, wilting flowers in mosaic porcelain propagators, superimposed trellises and overstocked pools to name but a few.

They only served to reinforce their stylish if somewhat stifling similarity.

I was mindful of today’s appointment thanks to my tarnished gold watch and the sonorous chiming of the nearby chapel clock.

Of course one must not overlook Mr and Mrs Ispy as they were nicknamed locally.

The naughty snoops who were minding everybody’s business bar their own.

Adam and alma ahern were their names.

Aunt Virginia had some scathing words about their type.

“Some people base their whole world around tittle tattle.

They are grounded in matters that smart folk view with Olympian disdain.”

One can just imagine the cocked ears and protruding noses feasting on every scrap of scandal real or contrived.

Theirs was an in-built antennae always aligned for mischief of the murkiest kind.

They had an ubiquitous presence.

You never knew what hedge or door they might pop out of.

They sniffer dogged their way around every trail, route, and byway in pursuit of some scurrilous rumour.

Encylopaedic were they on shenanigans of all kinds.

A satellite dish for backstabbing and intrigue.

Some were even so unkind as to suggest that they spied on each other.

They knew everybody and wormed their way into everyone’s confidence when they could!

Gossips at the cutting edge of trivia.

“Oops ….oh no! I’m about to crash.”

I said with my voice trembling.

Lost concentration for a minute.

My notepad and pen skating on a footpath that resembled a small scale ice rink.

Aunt virginia’s word’s about focus were never more valid.

“There goes my poem on …a mudpatch.”

Despite this sudden intrusion I kept my balance but maybe lost something valuable.

A tumult of events on the ground and overhead took place.

Shrill birds chirping and circulating in the sky, swooning and swooping like a scene from an Alfred Hitchcock movie.

As I slowly regained my balance I walked wearily and warily towards the diary with said verse.

The lines were smeared with mud.

Uncannily like a lady’s mudpack.

The heartfelt lines were still legible.

Well, just about.

My heart was beating for various reasons now.

I had a 4pm deadline to meet with forty or so minutes to spare.

Yet there were so many distractions.

An embarrassment of diversion sometimes towered above that stultifying uniformity which threatens even the most imaginative town architecture.

Or was my mind playing tricks on me with all the soundscapes and stimulation of the senses?

The downside of being a poet and writer perhaps?

Virginia’s words of wisdom coming back to haunt me but would I listen ?

The real world and fantasy can segue into one another with distinctions blurred and the usual proneness to exaggeration.

Were the exotic whiffs of Bombay mix recipes emanating from a market place bazaar or some nearby dwelling?

Were they just an illusion with factual elements mixed in?

Either way a favourite haunt of both the Ispy’s and the teen couple I had spoken to earlier was a marketplace.

Both had their own agenda with the aherns being the

more devious!

“Pumpkin seed baps on spits reeking of sesame oil with the most aromatic seasonings wafting everywhere or so I thought.

Incense and Moroccan spices taunting the nose of this stroller on a mission. But also setting off rumblings in the tummy that couldn’t be sated immediately.”

A very vivid image of Virginia with her Mona Lisaesque demeanor appeared.

I was juggling her insights on punctuality and other matters and trying to act on them.

Was I clutching at an ebbing twilight zeal or a burgeoning young at heart momentum?

Distractions make inroads into time but I felt I was being drawn to them.

Did I hear the raucous sound of docker’s voices barely audible but imaginable above the booming traffic?

Were they coming from somewhere close?

Maybe the ships trademark foghorn was setting off an overactive mind or had I supernatural powers at this point in my life?

Whatever the truth, there’s been many a threadbare naval yarn I’ve overheard.

The type that has been twisted, embroidered, embellished even marinated on seas high and low.

Gag induced guffaws billowing upwards as smoke from a chimney stack.

Uproarious bonhomie drowning out the offloading of fetid fish catch.

The vortex of a spiraling timeline giddy with impulse and image drove me on in defiance of their colour and charisma.

But before I knew it a wafer thin voice called out from the corner shop, the location of my rendezvous.

“Hello. Hope spring. I’m your date.

Bang on time both of us.”

A spritely lady in her late sixties with profuse greying hair.

Her eyes were so expressive and sparkled with life.

“Don’t know if I shared my last name when we first met.”

“You did.” I replied.

Virginia, would be proud of my recollection.

“Did you get my call earlier this morning reminding you of the date?”

Hope Spring queried.

“I must have missed it.” Said I archly.

“I also wanted to ask how the poem was going?

We started talking casually as you were writing it.

You were having trouble naming it.”

She said.

“I couldn’t think … how about?”

We both spoke at the same time and laughed.

“Hope ….hope springs eternal!”

The good of it all had us in stitches. I doubt my aunt Virginia would have approved with her dislike of such humour.

“Have you got the poem with you?” Hope enquired.

“No. Sorry, hope some of the lines are a bit muddied.” A reply that made me blush.

Virginia would have scowled.

“Maybe the next time we meet you’ll have it done.” Hope again.

That sounds promising I muttered to myself.

“Yahoo…..you two love birds.

Have fun. See you at the local coffee house.”

Sonia and Winifred’s message as they passed by on their bicycles jolting us out of our conversation.

“Lovely people. Maybe we should take their advice and head off that way.”

Hope placing her right hand on mine.

I nodded in agreement.

“I’ve had this strange feeling all day that I’m being watched… another presence.

Ever had that feeling?” Miss Spring enquired

innocently.

“As I haven’t been in this town for long

it seems more intense than the usual curiosity.”

She continued.

“Shortly after I arrived in this

area I met a charming couple called the aherns.

They warned me of gossips who fed on eavesdropping and misfortune.

Maybe that’s it. I’m certainly grateful for their warning.” Said Hope.

I could barely restrain myself at this bizarre twist that Virginia would definitely

have found amusing.

At that I walked towards the cafe with Hope while craning my neck, taking in all all my surroundings and noticing everything!!

–

Sunday Submission: @mantrabay

Photograph and short story part two by mantrabay copyright protected

[husbandograveyard]

Requested by @silenceofthecookies​ 2nd person genderneutral reader  Tw: spookyness, thalassophobia 

"Are you sure about this?" 

"Come on y/n, I'll stay with you the entire time." 

You closed your eyes to take a few deep breaths. You weren't entirely sure what had compelled you to say yes when your boyfriend proposed a halloween-themed diving trip. 

It was not like you had never done any diving together, quite the opposite. With him being a competitive swimmer and you being someone who liked to spend time in the water leisurely as well as someone who appreciated marine life and landscapes, dates where you'd swim and dive in the ocean were quite a frequent occurrence. 

But well, most of the times you dove in places where the water was clear, where you could see the boat and admire the view, where you would see any creatures come closer and where you could approach the creatures without either of you being too startled by each other's sudden presence. 

But now for Halloween, Rin had thought it a cool idea to go dive to the wreck of a ship that was the subject of so many urban legends. Rumors of divers disappearing, people drowning, a complete absence of marine life while they usually thrived in these environments, and murky water where you'd have to use flashlights to even see anything that was even a couple of inches away. 

But with his enthusiasm and his promises of staying extra close so nothing could suddenly grab you in the murky water, and a bunch of other activities to make this whole day unforgettable, you had given in. You were standing on the boat, almost in complete gear, watching Rin give you a toothy grin and a thumbs-up before putting on the last parts of his own diving gear. 

Once you were in the water, you felt a little of your fear going away. Rin stayed close as promised, and the water, even though it was dark and you could only vaguely make out the shape of the ship below as you slowly descended to get closer to it. The descent went smoothly until you felt something brush along your leg, but when you looked down, there was nothing to be seen. You stayed calm, focused on your breathing and blamed a lost fish in combination with the murky water. Now the ship was more in your vision. 

Rin caught your attention, signaling he’d go one way, you the other. The way he suggested it made sure you both would still see each other's light, so you would make sure to get there in time in case something went wrong. You gave the ok-sign and swam your way, creating a little distance between the two of you. Rin swam off, more skillfully than you could ever and you admired his form until there was nothing but his light visible to you. 

You focussed on the ship now, and were amazed by what you saw. It was huge, once probably incredibly sturdy, and yet, it lost against the terrifying force the ocean could be sometimes. The atmosphere was eerie, and you looked up regularly, making sure you could still make out Rin’s light. He kept his promise and stayed close and slow enough for you to follow, so you could admire the eerie sight of the wreck a little bit more. 

Something in you told you not to come too close or to touch it. There was something so inexplicably wrong with no creatures in or around the ship. Usually, even in the murkiest of waters, there would be some critters around, enjoying life in the deep darkness. But there was nothing. 

Until another one brushed past your leg, more forceful this time and you directed your light towards it, only to be met with nothingness again. You were a thousand percent sure you didn’t imagine it though, and looked around with your lamp. It didn’t seem fast enough to have gotten far enough without you spotting it, and yet, you had no luck finding even a shadow. You focused back at the ship and then made a check for- 

Rin. His light was nowhere to be seen. You flashed yours while making your way over to where he should have been by now, swimming faster than you usually would while exploring, the eerie feeling making your heart beat faster and your breathing more irregular than it should be when under water. Panic attacks were one of the main causes of divers drowning, so you put all your focus into staying calm, maybe he swam a little too far ahead, maybe he was pranking you (even though it was not even remotely funny) or maybe his batteries gave out. 

You swam down, inspecting the seafloor in case the worst had happened. But luckily, nobody was to be seen. You redirected your light up, trying to spot a sign of him but nothing. You cursed into your mouthpiece. Prank or not, Rin should know better than to leave you alone that was basically rule number one when diving in pairs. When a minute later you had still no sign of him, you decided to return to the boat, making the signal clearly in a few directions. Even if he was just lying in wait to prank you, he couldn’t miss that. And if something was wrong, you could use the computer onboard to locate him. 

You swam up, trying to spot the buoy that would indicate the boat's location or even the boat itself, but no such luck. You were feeling the panic rise again, but rationalized again: once you broke the surface, you could easily spot the boat and just swim toward it. Not the worst thing. You found yourself ascending as fast as allowed, even pushing the limit a little, nothing too reckless, although any faster could possibly have consequences, desperate to break the surface asap. You were either going to kick Rin’s ass or start a rescue mission, either way you were a mix of pissed and scared at this point. The date ruined no matter the outcome. 

When you finally got your head out of the water, your heart sank to your knees. It was midday when you descended. It was pitch black out now, the sky above you filled with stars, a wonderful sight if it weren’t so insanely upsetting. Your oxygen tanks were made to last an hour, maybe a little longer. Not half a day. You had not been under long enough for this much time to pass. The boat, nor the coastline were anywhere to be seen. Every direction, pitch-black water, underneath you, the same dark murkiness. 

Something brushed by you again. You lifted your leg instinctively, heart racing, panic finally completely settling in. And then it grabbed you. 

[ax100]

Ax’s Promare headcanons - Post-World Blaze (pt2)

Hello I’m back again with more headcanons! I decided to go for post-World Blaze stuff first instead of my write-ups on the city-states. Fair warning, this part is particularly word vomit-y, because this is the murkiest part of the timeline to me. Mfffhhh sorry;;;;

Anyway! If you are unfamiliar with this, I’m doing a series of posts on my Promare headcanons! They’re long and rambly and not that well-written because this is me just trying to figure my way through the first 5 minutes of the movie lel. This is post #3 and you can find the first two here: Pre-World Blaze Post-World Blaze (the first 10 years)

Enjoy!

HISTORICAL CONTEXT (POST-WORLD BLAZE: YEARS 11-20, LOOSENING GRUDGES)

At this point in time, the world was still shaky in its stability, but it was getting there. The International Counter-Terrorism Federation (ICTF) was there to protect people from Mad Burnish, so citizens were a bit more at ease, but their hatred and paranoia still burned as strongly as ever. The widely-held belief of the Burnish condition was that it either manifested in those who were evil, or it made you evil, like an insidious virus. Once you got it, it was all over. Being Burnish meant being destructive and hurting people. Never mind that you were a good person before it; it would only be a matter of time before you were itching to set things on fire. The world could not and would not risk another Blaze. Those who manifested were handed over to the police, where they would continue to be carted off to research facilities with their limbs bound in Freeze Rings. Those who were proven to have hidden knowledge of Burnish from the authorities were arrested as well, on grounds that they put public safety at risk. The more extreme citizens thought they’d do the world a favor and off any Burnish that manifested before they could get a handle on their powers—there were definitely vigilante justice groups who thought they were doing the right thing. Some of them did it for retribution. Others did it for the misguided sentiment that it would keep the world, as a whole, safe. In the eyes of the eyes of the law, however, it was still considered a crime; not because it went against human rights, but because civilians acting without proper training is still considered a threat to public safety. Leave it up to the professionals, they said, we’ll handle it.

It had been noted even before the Blaze that the condition seemed to manifest in times of great emotional distress—more often than not, when one was feeling anger, frustration, anguish, and other negative emotions. It was a very much incomplete hypothesis based more on loose correlation rather than causation, but the general public ate it up. It was a simple explanation, easily digestible in the midst of all other the other theories floating about. Occam’s razor won out in the end, and a home remedy ‘preventive measure’ that came about was the repression of negative emotions. (something something conceal don’t feel let it go) One can imagine just how well the repression of negative emotions went as a preventive measure for Burnish manifestation. (Hint: bottling up emotions -> larger probability of a meltdown)

Another widely-accepted belief to prevent the manifestation of the condition was that the presence of fire ‘influenced’ people to become Burnish. It was recommended, then, that one should eliminate all fire-related paraphernalia in one’s home. Because of this, the sales for gas stoves plummeted overnight, while induction cookers flew off the shelves and proceeded to become the norm for decades to come. Many other things in people’s daily lives changed because of this belief as well.

With the systems in place to protect the public from the Burnish threat (i.e. anti-terrorism campaigns by the IATF, systematic arrests of Burnish), the continuous research efforts led by Dr. Prometh, and the ‘preventive measures’ that were being practiced by the general public, the world was finally moving on into a new era, one where everyone could forget that Burnish even existed in their daily life. With all of them under lock and key, the world could go back to the way it was.

It would be another 10 years or so before Burnish hate finally started to ease up (this is around 20 years after the Blaze). Though there would always be those who would hold fast to their beliefs, there were a growing number of people who had started to grow weary of being angry, or maybe they had just become complacent. Out of sight, out of mind, as they say. No Burnish in my neighborhood, and the IATF has those Mad Burnish hooligans on the run. All is well, nothing to see here.

With the easing of old grudges came a growing movement towards peace. Enough is enough. The Blaze is over, the world is still trying to rebuild itself. The Burnish manifesting now have nothing to do with the Blaze, so they shouldn’t have to pay for the sins of their predecessors—This was the rhetoric that was gaining traction, especially with the younger generation, those born after the Blaze, those who weren’t around to see the world burn. A distinction needs to be made between Burnish and Mad Burnish, they reasoned. The Burnish who started the Blaze were victims more than instigators, pushed to the brink by a society that shunned them, didn’t we learn anything from the last time?

It was controversial, to say the least, and neither side was specific to any particular demographic. There were older ones (the ones who had been there) who supported this move towards peace, tired of living in a world of conflict. There were younger ones who decried the move, calling for accountability (by whom, Mad Burnish? The Burnish as a whole? It was something that side of the fence could never seem to agree upon).

In the midst of all the debates, the growing sentiment of forgiveness over retribution, and politicians being pressured to decide which side of the argument they fell on, it came as a shock to both the scientific community and the world as a whole that Dr. Deus Prometh, leading researcher on the Burnish condition for the past 20 years, was found dead, murdered in his own laboratory.

Yay, you made it! And so did I, because that was hard to write!! The bit about people giving up their gas stoves for IH cookers was my favorite haha. I feel like a lot of things in their daily life would have had to change, either from necessity or whatever was the widely-held belief at that time.

NEXT UP: Post-World Blaze - Years 21-present (from the POV of the movie), the rise of Promepolis and Kray Foresight

(There will be a separate post for the Burnish POV of all this, don’t worry!)

[valorxdrive]

♕ - THERE’S MORE?

To think there would ever be such brave last words.

One genuine moment of shock had unlocked the pandora’s box of The End. Reaching from the murkiest depths of the void would be horrific flash of various truths that begin to surround him as they took form amidst the ether.

Sora found his very heart sinking to the point of nudging against his spine as a panicked step is taken backwards. Hard shudders of pure and unbridled terror pricked and bloomed from every part of his being as his cerulean eyes wavered. Accompanied with these very images would be the sound of love, a form of love he never imagined, could’ve conceived, all taking place and ally and enemy alike revealed the true extent of the darkest depths. “Wh.. Wha...” All the strength began to flood from his entire being able as even the skies themselves found themselves blotted out with abyss taken it’s usurped throne of the skies.

Truth would ring it’s twisted bell as he glanced once way to another. No way out, no way through, only the bitter road of his choices and where they brought him.

The fine line between enemy and ally blurred.

Moments of passion ingrained betwixt two souls that Sora remained oh so unknowing of in the grand scheme.

Every visceral detail of the personal lives of so many he knew began to erupt to reveal their proofs proudly before his eyes. Each reveal was no different than a warhammer being driven into the very base of his stomach. He could hear the feather sighs of quacking mingling with the sharp wit, fresh fragrance and utter delight of the one who held one of his best friends. The salacious banter of cryptic man finding solace, excitement and the unknown touch of spice as a ‘HYUCK’ shuddered into the air. “This.. This can’t be.. We- We traveled for so long and.. you mean-” Bit by bit the very framework that made Sora’s mind began to shatter.

He found himself drawn to his knees as soon, within mere seconds, a wide plethora of these instances erupted before his eyes. One of woodland Dwarves finding themselves prepared to ride Vexen like a rodeo. Another, unknown and-- outright shocking side of Lea settled up in clown attire, mentions of ‘getting it memorized’ as that clown.. thong thing just seemed too high definition then it should’ve been! Then there was Xigbar, more goddamn XIGBAR in holding someone he swore he saw in the world of Monsters Inc. Each image danced, seemingly chanting his name in cursed satisfaction as they edged closer and closer.

Were these pictures.. moving? About to resume their sunday night tales? Once the sound of ‘GAWRSH XIGGY’ was accompanied by the sound of a rocking bed and ‘You clever little sneak~’ ---

Sora could only scream as the darkest abyss finally introduced itself into his life.

[bellatrix-la-strange]

God’s not home right now. Please leave a message after the beep. Beep.

So this was inspired by a prompt I saw somewhere and now cannot find no matter how hard I try, but this is basically it: 

‘Humans have just found out God is real and he’s abandoned them all these years. Their plans get increasingly elaborate as they think of new and different ways to get his attention’.

They didn't know he was gone gone (like really gone) until they were invaded by the Golasteens species in the year 2666 BC. Of course, by then many philosophers, preachers and even scientists had long since convinced themselves he’d never existed in the first place, so one would think that this small adjustment wouldn’t have been much to get used to.

Problem was that in their heads, it had been they who had abandoned any belief in him, not the other way around.

In any case, the alien species had been kind enough to regale their new slaves with stories of their greatness and success, all derived from decades and centuries worth of tutelage under God’s careful guidance. Naturally, after being confronted with the existence of aliens--and highly sophisticated ones at that--in such a sudden manner and then becoming enslaved at this same species’ whim, humans were reluctant to give their words more power than they already held.

However, once the foreign representative envoys from different planets began arriving to either congratulate or berate the Golasteens for their new colony and they, too, carried similar tales of their own origins, humans were left to face a horrifying reality: God was real.

And he had left them.

Though they’d yet to realize it, the Golasteens had just made their biggest mistake. They believed that they had curbed, if not completely and utterly decimated, any last hope the humans had held of a future existence as a free species and while those certainly were some dark times which followed, the harrowing news ended up being the spark to light the world on fire. The rebellion was swift, brutal and successful--humans were in control of Earth again.

In the times that followed, the human species truly began to shoot for the stars. They built ships which could take them to planets closer than one thousandth of a light-year away and as they explored new cultures, met alien beings, and drifted further and further away from home. In no short amount of time, humans could be found in the very furthest reaches of the known universe.

They hopped from world to world, leapfrogged across galaxies and dropped women and men into the darkest of black holes in their search for God. Sometimes they came so very close behind him--less than a decade since his departure--and the small, but remarkable milestone would be enough to fuel the next five generations of searchers.

But even the most obstinate race in the universe must admit defeat at one point and so the Search for God was eventually put on hold in favour of a more localized approach. As was to be expected from such a people, the years that followed were not altogether pleasant, nor well thought out.

Believing God’s absence to be related to man’s obsession with the materialistic and technological, a good portion of Earth’s population (now extending across seventeen planets and fifty-four satellites) reverted back to the old ways. They re-adopted traditional ways of life, cleansing themselves of the polluting influence of modern technology and bathing in the healing nectars of old world living.

Humanity took a huge leap backwards and landed in 2004.

When enough time had passed and God still hadn’t shown his face, the greatest human thinkers and strategists turned back to the drawing board and hatched up a new plan.

They were being deliberately ignored, they said. Punished, publicly shamed in front of the rest of the universe as each and every single new creation had their existences mapped out and guided along by God himself. Everyone except the humans. Their creator’s cold shoulder when it came to Earth’s originaries certainly hadn’t gone unnoticed by the rest of the universe’s inhabitants and as centuries passed and the situation still hadn’t changed, the tales turned to rumours, and the rumours turned to facts, which then morphed to pity and mockery.

Earth, and by extension humans, were social pariahs. That was the century in which mankind went underwater. Like the myth of Atlantis, they rebranded themselves the World of the Lost and vowed to hide beneath the deepest and murkiest of shadows until the end of time--just as God wanted.

But humans grew tired of living in the dark. They trudged back to the surface eventually and shook the cobwebs from their trusty old drawing board.

By now, it had been more than three thousand years since their ancestors had last created films and texts which warned against following this new pursuit, so humans couldn’t truly be faulted for not knowing any better when they brought back dinosaurs.

After all, what better way to get God’s attention than by proving you could do his work just as well as he could?

Unfortunately for the goal of the plan (though fortunately due to its disastrous results) God didn’t show up and witness the Earth explode into chaos as the highly sophisticated technology of the time endowed these ancient animals with powers beyond anyone’s imagination. It took over eight decades to mop up that colossal spill-up and after that, the suggestions scribbled on the drawing board lost some of their apocalyptic aftertaste.

That’s when they decided to focus their efforts on their future, to becoming the best of the best in anything and everything they could think of. That was the true Golden Age of humanity and yet, even as they crawled out from the hole God had outlined and which the humans had really dug into, they were still frustratingly bereft of any divine intervention.

One year, humans even managed to coordinate the change of the entire world's wardrobe to micro-glass textiles which would reflect the rays of the sun and create prisms of arching rainbows. It had been some scientific breakthrough or another in their efforts to travel faster and further across the galaxy and had spiralled into a desperate fashion choice. Foe 365 days the earth sparkled like a freshly shined disco ball unashamedly begging for praise and attention.

But nothing worked.

Humans were reaching new and unexplored levels of desperation. In a last ditch attempt to catch God’s eye, they turned back to the very basics and constructed a machine capable of doing the one thing they’d been trying to do for the past 60 millennia.

Checked, tested, re-checked, re-tested and re-re-checked (just to be sure), the machine was fired up with a flick of a switch.

A bolt of sound shot out across all levels of the galaxy until even the emptiest and most forgotten of corners were echoing with the cries of the human race. Translated into thousands of different languages and carried dozens of light-years away, their shout of anger, their howl of betrayal, their sob of agony, their whimper of loneliness, their howl of mourning… It was all swept away in a current of light, sound and stars.

When the universe was silent once more, they waited. They held their breath and gazed up at the stars. They had long since resolved archaic issues like global warming and on a night as clear as this one, with the clouds keeping their distance and the moon stuck halfway between winking at them from her perch in the sky, they could see deep into space, far enough to distinguish the light of neighbouring planets and the winding belts of alien colonies.

Humans were surrounded by life. They were capable of snuffing it and nurturing it within a blink of an eye and yet, as they stood on the precipice between their salvation and their downfall, they were powerless.

So they waited.

Further than the mind can imagine, tucked away in a hidden alcove verging on the line between present, future and past, God slept.

Somewhere in his being, tangled in the same strands he'd used to fashion the world into existence, buried down so deep it was only too easy to forget it was even there, a piece of consciousness stirred, roused by a distant, powerful cry.

With a world altering jolt, God woke up.

[nightmareonfilmstreet]

[Trailer] IT FOLLOWS’ David Robert Mitchel Takes Us UNDER THE SILVER LAKE

David Robert Mitchell is one of those directors that seemingly came out of nowhere to make an everlasting imprint on the horror genre, with 2015’s It Follows. The film fused together some unique combinations of retro and modern styling to create a truly unique experience. And now, his much-anticipated follow-up is right around the corner. A24 will be releasing Under the Silver Lake in theatres just in time for summer, and has just released the debut trailer for the film, which you can check out above.

The film follows Andrew Garfield as he plays amateur detective when his neighbor and new potential love interest (played by Riley Keough) goes missing overnight after their romantic meet-cute. There seems to be much more lying under the surface judging by the imagery we’re presented with in this trailer (colorful wigs, “dog killers,” and one creepy old man with a face not even a mother could love).

One of the things that made It Follows so peculiar was the completely indeterminable time period in which it took place, and there seems to be a somewhat similar blending of eras here. Though maybe not as undefined, considering the clearly visible MacBook Garfield is seen using at one point.

    The film also stars Topher Grace and Zosia Mamet (HBO’s Girls), and the official synopsis is as follows:

From the dazzling imagination that brought you It Follows comes a delirious neonoir fever dream about one man’s search for the truth behind the mysterious crimes, murders and disappearances in his East L.A. neighborhood. 

Sam (Andrew Garfield) is a disenchanted 33-year-old who discovers a mysterious woman, Sarah (Riley Keough), frolicking in his apartment’s swimming pool. When she vanishes, Sam embarks on a surreal quest across Los Angeles to decode the secret behind her disappearance, leading him into the murkiest depths of mystery, scandal and conspiracy in the City of Angels.

  “..memorabilia hoarders, masked seductresses, homeless gurus, reclusive songwriters, sex workers, wealthy socialites..”

  From writer-director David Robert Mitchell comes a sprawling, playful and unexpected mystery-comedy detective thriller about the Dream Factory and its denizens — dog killers, aspiring actors, glitter-pop groups, nightlife personalities, It girls, memorabilia hoarders, masked seductresses, homeless gurus, reclusive songwriters, sex workers, wealthy socialites, topless neighbors, and the shadowy billionaires floating above (and underneath) it all. Mining a noir tradition extending from Kiss Me Deadly and The Long Goodbye to Chinatown and Mulholland Dr., Mitchell uses the topography of Los Angeles as a backdrop for a deeper exploration into the hidden meaning and secret codes buried within the things we love.

  Sounds like one hell of a ride, and if A24 is also on board, I’m already in line. Under the Silver Lake will be released theatrically on June 22, 2018.

The post [Trailer] IT FOLLOWS’ David Robert Mitchel Takes Us UNDER THE SILVER LAKE appeared first on Nightmare on Film Street - Horror Movie Podcast, News and Reviews.

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[othersportsnews-blog]

Answering greatest questions for each NFL group getting into 2017 coaching camp

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Answering greatest questions for each NFL group getting into 2017 coaching camp

How will participating in on a just one-12 months offer influence Washington QB Kirk Cousins? Should the Colts depend on Andrew Luck to get started 7 days one? What is Le’Veon Bell‘s system for the Steelers’ preseason?

As coaching camps all around the league swing into comprehensive gear, NFL Country reporters remedy the greatest questions for just about every group heading into camp.

AFC East | AFC North| AFC South | AFC West NFC East | NFC North | NFC South | NFC West

AFC East

Does Tyrod Taylor have the supporting forged to give the ideal analysis of his effectiveness?

Taylor is underneath the microscope after he agreed to a decreased contract this offseason that could permit the Bills to launch him after the 2017 time and preserve $14 million of his $eighteen.one million cap selection. But the Bills’ situation at receiver continues to be just one of the murkiest in the NFL and it could influence how a lot Taylor is equipped to strengthen. Prime wideout Sammy Watkins need to keep healthful after missing chunks of his earlier two coaching camps with accidents, even though newcomers Zay Jones and Andre Holmes just about every have something to establish in purchase to get the No. two work. There is also the possibility of an outside the house veteran this sort of as Anquan Boldin getting into the mix. — Mike Rodak

Will the Dolphins function out a contract extension with Pro Bowl receiver Jarvis Landry?

To Landry’s credit history, he has carried out all he can to not permit his contract status to become a distraction. He has claimed and carried out all the appropriate things, together with demonstrating up for voluntary workouts in the spring. Landry is getting into the closing 12 months of his rookie offer and will get compensated both way. It really is just a matter of irrespective of whether Miami handles it now or after the time. — James Walker

Will Mike Gillislee seize the major running again work formerly held by LeGarrette Blount?

Signed as a restricted cost-free agent from Buffalo, exactly where he was powering LeSean McCoy on the depth chart, Gillislee’s offer will pay out him an common of about $three million per time. That is much more money than the Patriots had been supplying Blount, who scored eighteen rushing touchdowns in 2016. So they obviously see something in Gillislee that they imagine signifies an improve, and coaching camp is the 1st time we are going to get to see the running recreation in comprehensive-pads tactics. — Mike Reiss

Who’s on the bubble? Which rookie could shock? NFL Country reporters take a crack at a preliminary 53-male roster and commencing lineup projection and preview what to anticipate in coaching camp for each group.

No quarterbacks, offensive linemen or coordinators allowed — just pass-catchers and running backs. From 32-one, we’re ranking each team’s offensive weapons.

one Related

Does Christian Hackenberg have a opportunity to get the quarterback work?

Of course, but it probably will never occur right until the time is underway. He has still to take a frequent-time snap, and he nevertheless has not confronted a commencing defense in a recreation situation, counting the 2016 preseason. Probabilities are, the grizzled Josh McCown will land the work, but he is regarded as a bridge QB. When Hackenberg is considered ready, the work will be his. — Loaded Cimini

AFC North

Will the Ravens add an offensive lineman?

Of course, but possible only just one. The Ravens shed two a few-12 months starters (appropriate deal with Ricky Wagner and middle Jeremy Zuttah) and are now changing them with backups who couldn’t conquer out Wagner or Zuttah very last time. Baltimore would be inclined to signal a middle and appropriate deal with, but the group does not have ample salary-cap space to do so. If Nick Mangold would lower his inquiring price, the Ravens would probably signal the cost-free-agent middle to take around for both John Urschel or Ryan Jensen. Baltimore also could glimpse to improve around James Hurst at appropriate deal with. — Jamison Hensley

Will the Bengals’ offensive line arrive alongside one another?

The Bengals are breaking in starters at a few new positions after getting rid of Andrew Whitworth and Kevin Zeitler this offseason. Longtime deal with Andre Smith has re-signed with the Bengals to play guard for the 1st time, and the Bengals’ 2015 major draft picks, Cedric Ogbuehi and Jake Fisher, will have to establish their value at deal with. The Bengals have a large amount of function to do after permitting 41 sacks very last time. — Katherine Terrell

Who emerges as the commencing quarterback?

The only point anybody can say for absolutely sure is it will be just one of a few. Cody Kessler has a year’s knowledge. Brock Osweiler opened some eyes in offseason function. And DeShone Kizer is the rookie discovering his way. The Browns’ final aspiration would be if Kizer seized the work with his camp and preseason performances. That would permit them to allow him play instantly and develop from there. But the group was very clear when minicamp finished in June that he is not ready to get started, so the situation continues to be muddled. — Pat McManamon

What is Le’Veon Bell’s system for coaching camp?

The Steelers’ star running again has still to signal his franchise tender and a short while ago instructed ESPN that he hadn’t made a decision when he would report to camp. Gamers understand the business enterprise element after Bell unsuccessful to get to a very long-expression offer with the group, but they’d like to see him at camp due to the fact of his relevance to the group. Bell has recovered from offseason groin operation but is coaching in South Florida and thinks he does not need many tactics to be ready for the time. — Jeremy Fowler

AFC South

Who will open up the time as the Texans’ commencing quarterback?

Coach Invoice O’Brien suggests Tom Savage is the No. one man appropriate now, but offered the two 1st-spherical picks Houston gave up to draft Deshaun Watson, he really should get a reputable glimpse for the duration of coaching camp. Savage is getting into his fourth time in the Texans’ program, but due to the fact of accidents, he has played in only 5 NFL game titles and has not thrown a landing pass. No matter of who starts off at quarterback in 7 days one, O’Brien has revealed he is not shy about switching it up for the duration of the time. — Sarah Barshop

Will Andrew Luck be the Colts’ commencing quarterback in 7 days one?

The Colts hope that is the scenario, but they’re not a hundred per cent absolutely sure still. Luck was placed on the lively bodily not able to execute record with the anticipation that he’ll be ready for the get started of the frequent time. The Colts can not say with certainty that Luck will be the starter in opposition to the Los Angeles Rams due to the fact he missed the complete offseason even though rehabbing from January shoulder operation. Luck finally resumed throwing the 7 days of July 17. The subsequent move for him is to return to the apply discipline. — Mike Wells

Can Blake Bortles make the required strides to elevate his recreation?

Bortles potential customers the NFL in turnovers (63) and is 2nd in interceptions (51) around the earlier a few several years, and the Jaguars have created it extremely very clear to him that he need to appreciably lower all those numbers. While much more consideration is compensated to his mechanics, it really is his choice-building that has to strengthen. He has to get rid of the ball faster, not predetermine exactly where he is heading with the ball, and become greater at looking through defenses. — Mike DiRocco

Will Marcus Mariota modify his participating in style to keep healthful?

Headed into coaching camp, Mariota claimed he is “ready to go with almost everything” 7 months after suffering a broken appropriate leg, his 2nd consecutive time-ending injury. The Titans have superior anticipations in 2017, and all of them depend on Mariota, who ideas to be a lighter, more rapidly quarterback at 218 lbs . this time, remaining healthful and much more consistent. The Titans will need a large amount out of their franchise quarterback, but the system could need to change to much less made runs and much more sliding after scrambling to maintain Mariota healthful for sixteen-plus game titles. — Cameron Wolfe

AFC West

How very long will mentor Vance Joseph wait around to choose a starter at quarterback?

Joseph has claimed that what Trevor Siemian and Paxton Lynch did for the duration of the offseason program was geared toward discovering Mike McCoy’s offense and failed to depend on the proverbial scorecard to get the work. Having said that, at coaching camp, each throw, each choice, each phrase the two say in the huddle issues. Numerous of the Broncos’ gamers have claimed the faster the group picks a starter, the greater, but Joseph has claimed he is in no hurry. Joseph has claimed he will “take even so very long it will take to choose the appropriate man” and that he’ll make a choice when he sees “separation.” Joseph has even claimed he would take the choice appropriate up to the frequent time, but a set of joint tactics with the San Francisco 49ers to go together with the Aug. 19 preseason recreation in opposition to the 49ers will have a large amount to do with his choice. — Jeff Legwold

How a lot will QB Patrick Mahomes II play as a rookie?

The Chiefs are established not to spoil Mahomes, and the quickest way to do that is to play him in advance of he is ready. Judging from the way Mahomes played for the duration of offseason apply, he will never be ready for some time — maybe subsequent time. He is beginning coaching camp as the No. three quarterback, and even though he could rise on the depth chart at some position this 12 months, he’ll have to receive the marketing. In the Chiefs’ perfect entire world, Mahomes will never play at all in 2017. That implies starter Alex Smith stays healthful and is participating in nicely. — Adam Teicher

How a lot, if any, will rookie receiver Mike Williams play in 2017?

The Clemson products was identified with a lower-again disk herniation that retained him out of offseason function. Williams possible will commence coaching camp on the bodily not able to execute record, but he has responded positively after a 2nd epidural shot. The Chargers hope he can make it on to the discipline at some position for the duration of coaching camp so they can get him ready for the frequent time. — Eric D. Williams

Who is the middle linebacker?

The Raiders play in the Black Hole at the Oakland Coliseum, but they also may have a black hole in the middle of their defense … at minimum when it comes to knowledge at the situation. The man who started 11 game titles there very last time, Perry Riley Jr., continues to be unsigned. The man who started the time at middle linebacker very last time, Ben Heeney, is on the non-soccer injury record. And the man who manned it in offseason workouts, Tyrell Adams, did not play a one snap on defense very last time after currently being signed to the apply squad in early October in advance of currently being promoted to the lively squad in late November. The gig, it seems, is Adams’ to get rid of. — Paul Gutierrez

NFC East

How nicely will the Cowboys hurry the passer?

They really don’t have a DeMarcus Ware type who will command consideration from an offense on just about every snap, so they will depend on a quantity-around-top quality tactic. The Cowboys really don’t have a player with a double-digit-sack time in his occupation. They feel they will have 4 or 5 gamers, this sort of as DeMarcus Lawrence, Tyrone Crawford, Maliek Collins, Benson Mayowa and Taco Charlton, who can get 5 to 8 sacks on the time. — Todd Archer

Did the Giants do ample to correct the offense?

They included vast receiver Brandon Marshall, restricted stop Evan Engram and blocking restricted stop Rhett Ellison this offseason, but they barely addressed the offensive line. It really is feasible the Giants commence the time with the identical 5 starters on the line, with Ereck Bouquets and Bobby Hart as the tackles. They really should be enhanced but will nevertheless have some limitations with a underneath-common running recreation and line. — Jordan Raanan

Will Carson Wentz take a big leap forward in Calendar year two?

Coach Doug Pederson described Wentz as “refreshed, rejuvenated and ready to go” this 7 days as the Eagles kicked off coaching camp. Wentz included that he is in “a way greater place” mentally than this time a 12 months back when he was dealing with the major transition from North Dakota Condition to the professionals. Now armed with Alshon Jeffery and Torrey Smith at receiver and with a 12 months in this program underneath his belt, the expectation is that Wentz will take his recreation to one more degree in 2017. — Tim McManus

Will Kirk Cousins’ contract situation become a distraction?

Not to him. Cousins has been ready all offseason for participating in on the just one-12 months franchise-tag offer — and was probably much more irritated very last offseason when no very long-expression offer was attained. Taking part in in a identical spot very last time allow him know he can tackle it. A even bigger challenge will be modifying to life without the need of effective receivers Pierre Garcon and DeSean Jackson. Cousins desires Terrelle Pryor and Josh Doctson to be effective. — John Keim

NFC North

Does Mitchell Trubisky have a reputable opportunity to get started game titles as a rookie?

The Bears presently promised the commencing quarterback work to Mike Glennon, and they also signed veteran backup Mark Sanchez for superior measure, but Trubisky was drafted No. two all round. If Trubisky does not play in 2017, he would be Chicago’s 2nd major-10 choose (Kevin White is the other) in the earlier a few several years to sit out his rookie time. The only other intrigue bordering the Bears is John Fox’s work status (9-23 in Chicago), but Trubisky is a significantly much more persuasive determine as it relates to Chicago’s foreseeable future. — Jeff Dickerson

Who is heading to block Matthew Stafford‘s blind facet?

This should not have necessary to be a query for the Lions, but then Taylor Decker had shoulder operation and was considered out indefinitely. He was placed on the PUP record Tuesday, and now, it really is an open up levels of competition. Two of the candidates — Cyrus Kouandjio (NFI record) and Corey Robinson (PUP) — also will get started coaching camp sitting down out. That leaves the Lions with two authentic likely options for now: Cornelius Lucas and Greg Robinson. Lucas re-signed with the Lions as a restricted cost-free agent this offseason, and the Lions traded for Robinson for the duration of minicamp very last thirty day period. But Detroit has to determine out some type of option listed here or this could be a rough get started to the 2017 time. — Michael Rothstein

Will Ty Montgomery be the Packers’ workhorse again?

When Eddie Lacy signed with the Seahawks and typical supervisor Ted Thompson failed to signal a veteran, it ensured that Montgomery would get the 1st crack at the commencing work. And while mentor Mike McCarthy proclaimed the former receiver as his starter even after the group drafted a few running backs, he failed to make any claims about Montgomery’s workload. It really is a harmless guess Montgomery will get much more than the seventy seven carries he obtained very last time, but it may be a stretch to anticipate him to match Lacy’s two hundred-plus have tempo from his 1st two seasons. — Rob Demovsky

How a lot greater will the running recreation be?

The Vikings signed Latavius Murray, drafted Dalvin Cook and gave a blended $36.eight million to Riley Reiff and Mike Remmers, two tackles who will possible provide much more to the group as operate-blockers than they will as pass protectors. It really is all to correct a ground recreation that was the league’s worst very last time thanks in element to an inability to open up holes at the line of scrimmage. As the Vikings search for to make things easier for Sam Bradford, strengthening their running recreation will be a major priority. — Ben Goessling

NFC South

Who will get started at appropriate guard pursuing the retirement of Chris Chester?

Moving into camp, both of those Wes Schweitzer and Ben Garland are the prime candidates to fill Chester’s place. Falcons mentor Dan Quinn claimed nothing at all will be made a decision right until the group places the pads on and right until both of those Schweitzer and Garland get to play in preseason game titles. Schweitzer was inactive for each recreation very last time as a rookie, even though Garland’s main contribution in 2016 was as a defensive lineman. — Vaughn McClure

Can Cam Newton return to his 2015 MVP sort, or at minimum get shut to it?

The Panthers QB statistically had his worst time in 2016, and then he had operation in March to repair a partially torn rotator cuff in his throwing shoulder. Camp is the 1st authentic test for that. The Panthers have surrounded Newton with much more weapons, this sort of as 1st-spherical draft choose Christian McCaffrey, so he can rely on other playmakers as a substitute of carrying the load himself — particularly in the running recreation. How Newton performs will ascertain how significantly this group goes. — David Newton

Who will substitute Terron Armstead at left deal with?

Armstead will pass up at minimum fifty percent the time after injuring his shoulder in minicamp — a major blow considering the fact that he has emerged as just one of the league’s major young tackles. The Saints would love for 1st-spherical draft option Ryan Ramczyk to get the work in coaching camp. But the 32nd all round choose is an not known considering the fact that he played at Wisconsin for just just one 12 months and was nevertheless recovering from hip operation in arranged group activities and minicamp. He’ll compete with veterans Khalif Barnes and Bryce Harris. Andrus Peat, a 2015 1st-spherical choose, is also an solution, but mentor Sean Payton claimed the Saints would want to maintain Peat at left guard except their hand is pressured. — Mike Triplett

How a lot greater will Jameis Winston and the Bucs’ offense be with new weapons DeSean Jackson and O.J. Howard?

The Bucs had been twentieth in the league very last time in red zone scoring (TDs only), and it was a major position of emphasis this offseason. If they want to take things to the subsequent degree and perhaps knock off the New England Patriots and Eco-friendly Bay Packers this time, or even the Atlanta Falcons in their have division, the offense desires to score much more than twenty-22 details per recreation, and that is a reasonable possibility with a intelligent veteran in Jackson and a gifted rookie in Howard. — Jenna Laine

NFC West

Will the relaxation for the duration of OTAs, minicamp and coaching camp support quarterback Carson Palmer?

The early returns are, certainly, it really is supporting, but the true remedy will never be noticed right until halfway by the time, when Palmer’s arm has gone by the ringer of apply, recreation, relaxation … and repeat 8 much more times. Should his arm be rested and more healthy this time, it could be the launching position for the Cardinals to bounce again from a 7-eight-one time and return to the playoffs for the third time in 4 seasons. But if his arm does not answer to the relaxation around the class of a time, then Palmer’s time in the NFL could be gradually coming to an stop. — Josh Weinfuss

Los Angeles Rams

How a lot greater is Jared Goff?

Almost nothing issues much more to this franchise than that. The Rams moved up 14 spots to draft Goff No. one all round very last 12 months, but he in no way challenged for the commencing quarterback work for the duration of coaching camp and in no way received a recreation for the duration of the frequent time. His numbers by 7 starts off — fifty four.6 per cent completion level, five.three yards per try, five touchdowns, 7 interceptions and a 22.two Full QBR — had been dreadful. But a new coaching team, led by the offense-minded Sean McVay, and a comprehensive 12 months of NFL knowledge will certainly support. What seems to be an enhanced offensive line also will support. How a lot greater will Goff be in Calendar year two? The Rams are hoping it really is a large amount greater. — Alden Gonzalez

San Francisco 49ers

Will Reuben Foster be healthful and effective ample to get a commencing work?

The Niners have insisted all together that Foster’s surgically repaired shoulder would be ready to go by the get started of coaching camp, and there have been no indications if not considering the fact that the offseason program finished. Even assuming Foster is healthful, he figures to be in a restricted battle with veteran Malcolm Smith for the commencing weakside linebacker work. Smith has the knowledge and information of coordinator Robert Saleh’s defense to be the man early on, but it nevertheless feels like just a matter of time in advance of Foster techniques into the commencing lineup. — Nick Wagoner

Did Seattle do ample to address the offensive line?

Coach Pete Carroll and typical supervisor John Schneider are worn out of conversing about it, but the offensive line continues to be the greatest query mark on the group. A healthful Earl Thomas will support the defense bounce again. And a healthful Russell Wilson will give the offense a carry. But if the Seahawks can not protect him, they’ll be in trouble. Seattle signed Luke Joeckel to play left guard or left deal with, and the group drafted Ethan Pocic out of LSU in the 2nd spherical. But a lot of the progress with this team will be established by how a lot fellas this sort of as George Fant, Mark Glowinski and Germain Ifedi can strengthen in their young professions. — Sheil Kapadia

Resource connection

[mantrabay]

Hope Springs Eternal Part 2.9

One should be cognizant of tread marks of a different kind that await all of us.

But attitude is key. A timeless trait.

More fodder this for that colourful cryptic creation I’m churning about in my brain.

One could not help but notice the dwellings in this compact charming but claustrophobic town.

They were spreadeagled to a fault with scant regard for privacy or personal space.

Neighbours like nodding polders wave from their aluminum polycarbonate verandas.

The sort with integrated guttering and moulded frames.

All packed together like crates in a warehouse.

A carbon copy of some construction company’s catalogue.

The trailing shrubs, wilting flowers in mosaic porcelain propagators, superimposed trellises and overstocked pools to name but a few.

They only served to reinforce their stylish if somewhat stifling similarity.

I was mindful of today’s appointment thanks to my tarnished gold watch and the sonorous chiming of the nearby chapel clock.

Of course one must not overlook Mr and Mrs Ispy as they were nicknamed locally.

The naughty snoops who were minding everybody's business bar their own.

Adam and alma ahern were their names.

Aunt Virginia had some scathing words about their type.

“Some people base their whole world around tittle tattle.

They are grounded in matters that smart folk view with Olympian disdain.”

One can just imagine the cocked ears and protruding noses feasting on every scrap of scandal real or contrived.

Theirs was an in-built antennae always aligned for mischief of the murkiest kind.

They had an ubiquitous presence.

You never knew what hedge or door they might pop out of.

They sniffer dogged their way around every trail, route, and byway in pursuit of some scurrilous rumour.

Encylopaedic were they on shenanigans of all kinds.

A satellite dish for backstabbing and intrigue.

Some were even so unkind as to suggest that they spied on each other.

They knew everybody and wormed their way into everyone’s confidence when they could!

Gossips at the cutting edge of trivia.

“Oops ….oh no! I’m about to crash.”

I said with my voice trembling.

Lost concentration for a minute.

My notepad and pen skating on a footpath that resembled a small scale ice rink.

Aunt virginia's word’s about focus were never more valid.

“ There goes my poem on ...a mudpatch.”

Despite this sudden intrusion I kept my balance but maybe lost something valuable.

A tumult of events on the ground and overhead took place.

Shrill birds chirping and circulating in the sky, swooning and swooping like a scene from an Alfred Hitchcock movie.

As I slowly regained my balance I walked wearily and warily towards the diary with said verse.

The lines were smeared with mud.

Uncannily like a lady’s mudpack.

The heartfelt lines were still legible.

Well, just about.

My heart was beating for various reasons now.

I had a 4 pmdeadline to meet with forty or so minutes to spare.

Yet there were so many distractions.

An embarrassment of diversion sometimes towered above that stultifying uniformity which threatens even the most imaginative town architecture.

Or was my mind playing tricks on me with all the soundscapes and stimulation of the senses?

The downside of being a poet and writer perhaps?

Virginia’s words of wisdom coming back to haunt me but would I listen ?

The real world and fantasy can segue into one another with distinctions blurred and the usual proneness to exaggeration.

Were the exotic whiffs of Bombay mix recipes emanating from a market place bazaar or some nearby dwelling?

Were they just an illusion with factual elements mixed in?

Either way a favourite haunt of both the Ispy’s and the teen couple I had spoken to earlier was a marketplace.

Both had their own agenda with the aherns being the

more devious!

Pumpkin seed baps on spits reeking of sesame oil with the most aromatic seasonings wafting everywhere or so I thought.

Incense and Moroccan spices taunting the nose of this stroller on a mission. But also setting off rumblings in the tummy that couldn’t be sated immediately.

A very vivid image of Virginia with her Mona Lisaesque demeanor appeared.

I was juggling her insights on punctuality and other matters and trying to act on them.

Was I clutching at an ebbing twilight zeal or a burgeoning young at heart momentum?

Distractions make inroads into time but I felt I was being drawn to them.

Did I hear the raucous sound of docker’s voices barely audible but imaginable above the booming traffic?

Were they coming from somewhere close?

Maybe the ships trademark foghorn was setting off an overactive mind or had I supernatural powers at this point in my life?

Whatever the truth, there’s been many a threadbare naval yarn I’ve overheard.

The type that has been twisted, embroidered, embellished even marinated on seas high and low.

Gag induced guffaws billowing upwards as smoke from a chimney stack.

Uproarious bonhomie drowning out the offloading of fetid fish catch.

The vortex of a spiraling timeline giddy with impulse and image drove me on in defiance of their colour and charisma.

But before I knew it a wafer thin voice called out from the corner shop, the location of my rendezvous.

“Hello. Hope spring. I’m your date.

Bang on time both of us.”

A Spritely lady in her late sixties with profuse greying hair.

Her eyes were so expressive and sparkled with life.

“Don’t know if I shared my last name when we first met.”

“You did.” I replied.

Virginia, would be proud of my recollection.

“Did you get my call earlier this morning reminding you of the date?”

Hope Spring queried.

“I must have missed it.” Said I archly.

“I also wanted to ask how the poem was going?

We started talking casually as you were writing it.

You were having trouble naming it.”

She said.

“I couldn’t think … how about ?”

We both spoke at the same time and laughed.

“Hope ….hope springs eternal!”

The good of it all had us in stitches. I doubt my aunt Virginia would have approved with her dislike of such humour.

“Have you got the poem with you?” Hope enquired.

“No. Sorry, hope some of the lines are a bit muddied.” A reply that made me blush.

Virginia would have scowled.

“Maybe the next time we meet you’ll have it done.” Hope again.

That sounds promising I muttered to myself.

“Yahoo…..you two love birds.

Have fun. See you at the local coffee house.”

Sonia and Winifred's message as they passed by on their bicycles jolting us out of our conversation.

“Lovely people. Maybe we should take their advice and head off that way.”

Hope placing her right hand on mine.

I nodded in agreement.

“I’ve had this strange feeling all day that I’m being watched… another presence.

Ever had that feeling ?” Miss Spring enquired

innocently.

“As I haven’t been in this town for long

it seems more intense than the usual curiosity.” She continued.

“Shortly after I arrived in this

area I met a charming couple called the aherns.

They warned me of gossips who fed on eavesdropping and misfortune.

Maybe that’s it. I’m certainly grateful for their warning.” Said Hope.

I could barely restrain myself at this bizarre twist that Virginia would definitely

have found amusing.

At that I walked towards the cafe with Hope while craning my neck, taking in all all my surroundings and noticing everything!!

Photographs and short story extract mantrabay copyright protected.

Thanks as always for reading and viewing my posts.

I appreciate that.

[mantrabay]

Hope Springs Eternal Part 2.7

One should be cognizant of tread marks of a different kind that await all of us.

But attitude is key. A timeless trait.

More fodder this for that colourful cryptic creation I’m churning about in my brain.

One could not help but notice the dwellings in this compact charming but claustrophobic town.

They were spreadeagled to a fault with scant regard for privacy or personal space.

Neighbours like nodding polders wave from their aluminum polycarbonate verandas.

The sort with integrated guttering and moulded frames.

All packed together like crates in a warehouse.

A carbon copy of some construction company’s catalogue.

The trailing shrubs, wilting flowers in mosaic porcelain propagators, superimposed trellises and overstocked pools to name but a few.

They only served to reinforce their stylish if somewhat stifling similarity.

I was mindful of today’s appointment thanks to my tarnished gold watch and the sonorous chiming of the nearby chapel clock.

Of course one must not overlook Mr and Mrs Ispy as they were nicknamed locally.

The naughty snoops who were minding everybody's business bar their own.

Adam and alma ahern were their names.

Aunt Virginia had some scathing words about their type.

“Some people base their whole world around tittle tattle.

They are grounded in matters that smart folk view with Olympian disdain.”

One can just imagine the cocked ears and protruding noses feasting on every scrap of scandal real or contrived.

Theirs was an in-built antennae always aligned for mischief of the murkiest kind.

They had an ubiquitous presence.

You never knew what hedge or door they might pop out of.

They sniffer dogged their way around every trail, route, and byway in pursuit of some scurrilous rumour.

Encylopaedic were they on shenanigans of all kinds.

A satellite dish for backstabbing and intrigue.

Some were even so unkind as to suggest that they spied on each other.

They knew everybody and wormed their way into everyone’s confidence when they could!

Gossips at the cutting edge of trivia.

“Oops ….oh no! I’m about to crash.”

I said with my voice trembling.

Lost concentration for a minute.

My notepad and pen skating on a footpath that resembled a small scale ice rink.

Aunt virginia's word’s about focus were never more valid.

“ There goes my poem on ...a mudpatch.”

Despite this sudden intrusion I kept my balance but maybe lost something valuable.

A tumult of events on the ground and overhead took place.

Shrill birds chirping and circulating in the sky, swooning and swooping like a scene from an Alfred Hitchcock movie.

As I slowly regained my balance I walked wearily and warily towards the diary with said verse.

The lines were smeared with mud.

Uncannily like a lady’s mudpack.

The heartfelt lines were still legible.

Well, just about.

My heart was beating for various reasons now.

I had a 4 pmdeadline to meet with forty or so minutes to spare.

Yet there were so many distractions.

An embarrassment of diversion sometimes towered above that stultifying uniformity which threatens even the most imaginative town architecture.

Or was my mind playing tricks on me with all the soundscapes and stimulation of the senses?

The downside of being a poet and writer perhaps?

Virginia’s words of wisdom coming back to haunt me but would I listen ?

The real world and fantasy can segue into one another with distinctions blurred and the usual proneness to exaggeration.

Were the exotic whiffs of Bombay mix recipes emanating from a market place bazaar or some nearby dwelling?

Were they just an illusion with factual elements mixed in?

Either way a favourite haunt of both the Ispy’s and the teen couple I had spoken to earlier was a marketplace.

Both had their own agenda with the aherns being the

more devious!

Pumpkin seed baps on spits reeking of sesame oil with the most aromatic seasonings wafting everywhere or so I thought.

Incense and Moroccan spices taunting the nose of this stroller on a mission. But also setting off rumblings in the tummy that couldn’t be sated immediately.

A very vivid image of Virginia with her Mona Lisaesque demeanor appeared.

I was juggling her insights on punctuality and other matters and trying to act on them.

Was I clutching at an ebbing twilight zeal or a burgeoning young at heart momentum?

Distractions make inroads into time but I felt I was being drawn to them.

Did I hear the raucous sound of docker’s voices barely audible but imaginable above the booming traffic?

Were they coming from somewhere close?

Maybe the ships trademark foghorn was setting off an overactive mind or had I supernatural powers at this point in my life?

Whatever the truth, there’s been many a threadbare naval yarn I’ve overheard.

The type that has been twisted, embroidered, embellished even marinated on seas high and low.

Gag induced guffaws billowing upwards as smoke from a chimney stack.

Uproarious bonhomie drowning out the offloading of fetid fish catch.

The vortex of a spiraling timeline giddy with impulse and image drove me on in defiance of their colour and charisma.

But before I knew it a wafer thin voice called out from the corner shop, the location of my rendezvous.

“Hello. Hope spring. I’m your date.

Bang on time both of us.”

A Spritely lady in her late sixties with profuse greying hair.

Her eyes were so expressive and sparkled with life.

“Don’t know if I shared my last name when we first met.”

“You did.” I replied.

Virginia, would be proud of my recollection.

“Did you get my call earlier this morning reminding you of the date?”

Hope Spring queried.

“I must have missed it.” Said I archly.

“I also wanted to ask how the poem was going?

We started talking casually as you were writing it.

You were having trouble naming it.”

She said.

“I couldn’t think … how about ?”

We both spoke at the same time and laughed.

“Hope ….hope springs eternal!”

The good of it all had us in stitches. I doubt my aunt Virginia would have approved with her dislike of such humour.

“Have you got the poem with you?” Hope enquired.

“No. Sorry, hope some of the lines are a bit muddied.” A reply that made me blush.

Virginia would have scowled.

“Maybe the next time we meet you’ll have it done.” Hope again.

That sounds promising I muttered to myself.

“Yahoo…..you two love birds.

Have fun. See you at the local coffee house.”

Sonia and Winifred's message as they passed by on their bicycles jolting us out of our conversation.

“Lovely people. Maybe we should take their advice and head off that way.”

Hope placing her right hand on mine.

I nodded in agreement.

“I’ve had this strange feeling all day that I’m being watched… another presence.

Ever had that feeling ?” Miss Spring enquired

innocently.

“As I haven’t been in this town for long

it seems more intense than the usual curiosity.” She continued.

“Shortly after I arrived in this

area I met a charming couple called the aherns.

They warned me of gossips who fed on eavesdropping and misfortune.

Maybe that’s it. I’m certainly grateful for their warning.” Said Hope.

I could barely restrain myself at this bizarre twist that Virginia would definitely

have found amusing.

At that I walked towards the cafe with Hope while craning my neck, taking in all all my surroundings and noticing everything!!

Photographs and short story extract mantrabay copyright protected.

Thanks as always for reading and viewing my posts.

I appreciate that

[mantrabay]

Hope Springs Eternal Part 2.15

One should be cognizant of tread marks of a different kind that await all of us.

But attitude is key. A timeless trait.

More fodder this for that colourful cryptic creation I’m churning about in my brain.

One could not help but notice the dwellings in this compact charming but claustrophobic town.

They were spreadeagled to a fault with scant regard for privacy or personal space.

Neighbours like nodding polders wave from their aluminum polycarbonate verandas.

The sort with integrated guttering and moulded frames.

All packed together like crates in a warehouse.

A carbon copy of some construction company’s catalogue.

The trailing shrubs, wilting flowers in mosaic porcelain propagators, superimposed trellises and overstocked pools to name but a few.

They only served to reinforce their stylish if somewhat stifling similarity.

I was mindful of today’s appointment thanks to my tarnished gold watch and the sonorous chiming of the nearby chapel clock.

Of course one must not overlook Mr and Mrs Ispy as they were nicknamed locally.

The naughty snoops who were minding everybody's business bar their own.

Adam and alma ahern were their names.

Aunt Virginia had some scathing words about their type.

“Some people base their whole world around tittle tattle.

They are grounded in matters that smart folk view with Olympian disdain.”

One can just imagine the cocked ears and protruding noses feasting on every scrap of scandal real or contrived.

Theirs was an in-built antennae always aligned for mischief of the murkiest kind.

They had an ubiquitous presence.

You never knew what hedge or door they might pop out of.

They sniffer dogged their way around every trail, route, and byway in pursuit of some scurrilous rumour.

Encylopaedic were they on shenanigans of all kinds.

A satellite dish for backstabbing and intrigue.

Some were even so unkind as to suggest that they spied on each other.

They knew everybody and wormed their way into everyone’s confidence when they could!

Gossips at the cutting edge of trivia.

“Oops ….oh no! I’m about to crash.”

I said with my voice trembling.

Lost concentration for a minute.

My notepad and pen skating on a footpath that resembled a small scale ice rink.

Aunt virginia's word’s about focus were never more valid.

“ There goes my poem on ...a mudpatch.”

Despite this sudden intrusion I kept my balance but maybe lost something valuable.

A tumult of events on the ground and overhead took place.

Shrill birds chirping and circulating in the sky, swooning and swooping like a scene from an Alfred Hitchcock movie.

As I slowly regained my balance I walked wearily and warily towards the diary with said verse.

The lines were smeared with mud.

Uncannily like a lady’s mudpack.

The heartfelt lines were still legible.

Well, just about.

My heart was beating for various reasons now.

I had a 4 pmdeadline to meet with forty or so minutes to spare.

Yet there were so many distractions.

An embarrassment of diversion sometimes towered above that stultifying uniformity which threatens even the most imaginative town architecture.

Or was my mind playing tricks on me with all the soundscapes and stimulation of the senses?

The downside of being a poet and writer perhaps?

Virginia’s words of wisdom coming back to haunt me but would I listen ?

The real world and fantasy can segue into one another with distinctions blurred and the usual proneness to exaggeration.

Were the exotic whiffs of Bombay mix recipes emanating from a market place bazaar or some nearby dwelling?

Were they just an illusion with factual elements mixed in?

Either way a favourite haunt of both the Ispy’s and the teen couple I had spoken to earlier was a marketplace.

Both had their own agenda with the aherns being the

more devious!

Pumpkin seed baps on spits reeking of sesame oil with the most aromatic seasonings wafting everywhere or so I thought.

Incense and Moroccan spices taunting the nose of this stroller on a mission. But also setting off rumblings in the tummy that couldn’t be sated immediately.

A very vivid image of Virginia with her Mona Lisaesque demeanor appeared.

I was juggling her insights on punctuality and other matters and trying to act on them.

Was I clutching at an ebbing twilight zeal or a burgeoning young at heart momentum?

Distractions make inroads into time but I felt I was being drawn to them.

Did I hear the raucous sound of docker’s voices barely audible but imaginable above the booming traffic?

Were they coming from somewhere close?

Maybe the ships trademark foghorn was setting off an overactive mind or had I supernatural powers at this point in my life?

Whatever the truth, there’s been many a threadbare naval yarn I’ve overheard.

The type that has been twisted, embroidered, embellished even marinated on seas high and low.

Gag induced guffaws billowing upwards as smoke from a chimney stack.

Uproarious bonhomie drowning out the offloading of fetid fish catch.

The vortex of a spiraling timeline giddy with impulse and image drove me on in defiance of their colour and charisma.

But before I knew it a wafer thin voice called out from the corner shop, the location of my rendezvous.

“Hello. Hope spring. I’m your date.

Bang on time both of us.”

A Spritely lady in her late sixties with profuse greying hair.

Her eyes were so expressive and sparkled with life.

“Don’t know if I shared my last name when we first met.”

“You did.” I replied.

Virginia, would be proud of my recollection.

“Did you get my call earlier this morning reminding you of the date?”

Hope Spring queried.

“I must have missed it.” Said I archly.

“I also wanted to ask how the poem was going?

We started talking casually as you were writing it.

You were having trouble naming it.”

She said.

“I couldn’t think … how about ?”

We both spoke at the same time and laughed.

“Hope ….hope springs eternal!”

The good of it all had us in stitches. I doubt my aunt Virginia would have approved with her dislike of such humour.

“Have you got the poem with you?” Hope enquired.

“No. Sorry, hope some of the lines are a bit muddied.” A reply that made me blush.

Virginia would have scowled.

“Maybe the next time we meet you’ll have it done.” Hope again.

That sounds promising I muttered to myself.

“Yahoo…..you two love birds.

Have fun. See you at the local coffee house.”

Sonia and Winifred's message as they passed by on their bicycles jolting us out of our conversation.

“Lovely people. Maybe we should take their advice and head off that way.”

Hope placing her right hand on mine.

I nodded in agreement.

“I’ve had this strange feeling all day that I’m being watched… another presence.

Ever had that feeling ?” Miss Spring enquired

innocently.

“As I haven’t been in this town for long

it seems more intense than the usual curiosity.” She continued.

“Shortly after I arrived in this

area I met a charming couple called the aherns.

They warned me of gossips who fed on eavesdropping and misfortune.

Maybe that’s it. I’m certainly grateful for their warning.” Said Hope.

I could barely restrain myself at this bizarre twist that Virginia would definitely

have found amusing.

At that I walked towards the cafe with Hope while craning my neck, taking in all all my surroundings and noticing everything!!

Photographs and short story extract mantrabay copyright protected.

Thanks as always for reading and viewing my posts.

I appreciate that.

[mantrabay]

Hope Springs Eternal Part 2.14

One should be cognizant of tread marks of a different kind that await all of us.

But attitude is key. A timeless trait.

More fodder this for that colourful cryptic creation I’m churning about in my brain.

One could not help but notice the dwellings in this compact charming but claustrophobic town.

They were spreadeagled to a fault with scant regard for privacy or personal space.

Neighbours like nodding polders wave from their aluminum polycarbonate verandas.

The sort with integrated guttering and moulded frames.

All packed together like crates in a warehouse.

A carbon copy of some construction company’s catalogue.

The trailing shrubs, wilting flowers in mosaic porcelain propagators, superimposed trellises and overstocked pools to name but a few.

They only served to reinforce their stylish if somewhat stifling similarity.

I was mindful of today’s appointment thanks to my tarnished gold watch and the sonorous chiming of the nearby chapel clock.

Of course one must not overlook Mr and Mrs Ispy as they were nicknamed locally.

The naughty snoops who were minding everybody's business bar their own.

Adam and alma ahern were their names.

Aunt Virginia had some scathing words about their type.

“Some people base their whole world around tittle tattle.

They are grounded in matters that smart folk view with Olympian disdain.”

One can just imagine the cocked ears and protruding noses feasting on every scrap of scandal real or contrived.

Theirs was an in-built antennae always aligned for mischief of the murkiest kind.

They had an ubiquitous presence.

You never knew what hedge or door they might pop out of.

They sniffer dogged their way around every trail, route, and byway in pursuit of some scurrilous rumour.

Encylopaedic were they on shenanigans of all kinds.

A satellite dish for backstabbing and intrigue.

Some were even so unkind as to suggest that they spied on each other.

They knew everybody and wormed their way into everyone’s confidence when they could!

Gossips at the cutting edge of trivia.

“Oops ….oh no! I’m about to crash.”

I said with my voice trembling.

Lost concentration for a minute.

My notepad and pen skating on a footpath that resembled a small scale ice rink.

Aunt virginia's word’s about focus were never more valid.

“ There goes my poem on ...a mudpatch.”

Despite this sudden intrusion I kept my balance but maybe lost something valuable.

A tumult of events on the ground and overhead took place.

Shrill birds chirping and circulating in the sky, swooning and swooping like a scene from an Alfred Hitchcock movie.

As I slowly regained my balance I walked wearily and warily towards the diary with said verse.

The lines were smeared with mud.

Uncannily like a lady’s mudpack.

The heartfelt lines were still legible.

Well, just about.

My heart was beating for various reasons now.

I had a 4 pmdeadline to meet with forty or so minutes to spare.

Yet there were so many distractions.

An embarrassment of diversion sometimes towered above that stultifying uniformity which threatens even the most imaginative town architecture.

Or was my mind playing tricks on me with all the soundscapes and stimulation of the senses?

The downside of being a poet and writer perhaps?

Virginia’s words of wisdom coming back to haunt me but would I listen ?

The real world and fantasy can segue into one another with distinctions blurred and the usual proneness to exaggeration.

Were the exotic whiffs of Bombay mix recipes emanating from a market place bazaar or some nearby dwelling?

Were they just an illusion with factual elements mixed in?

Either way a favourite haunt of both the Ispy’s and the teen couple I had spoken to earlier was a marketplace.

Both had their own agenda with the aherns being the

more devious!

Pumpkin seed baps on spits reeking of sesame oil with the most aromatic seasonings wafting everywhere or so I thought.

Incense and Moroccan spices taunting the nose of this stroller on a mission. But also setting off rumblings in the tummy that couldn’t be sated immediately.

A very vivid image of Virginia with her Mona Lisaesque demeanor appeared.

I was juggling her insights on punctuality and other matters and trying to act on them.

Was I clutching at an ebbing twilight zeal or a burgeoning young at heart momentum?

Distractions make inroads into time but I felt I was being drawn to them.

Did I hear the raucous sound of docker’s voices barely audible but imaginable above the booming traffic?

Were they coming from somewhere close?

Maybe the ships trademark foghorn was setting off an overactive mind or had I supernatural powers at this point in my life?

Whatever the truth, there’s been many a threadbare naval yarn I’ve overheard.

The type that has been twisted, embroidered, embellished even marinated on seas high and low.

Gag induced guffaws billowing upwards as smoke from a chimney stack.

Uproarious bonhomie drowning out the offloading of fetid fish catch.

The vortex of a spiraling timeline giddy with impulse and image drove me on in defiance of their colour and charisma.

But before I knew it a wafer thin voice called out from the corner shop, the location of my rendezvous.

“Hello. Hope spring. I’m your date.

Bang on time both of us.”

A Spritely lady in her late sixties with profuse greying hair.

Her eyes were so expressive and sparkled with life.

“Don’t know if I shared my last name when we first met.”

“You did.” I replied.

Virginia, would be proud of my recollection.

“Did you get my call earlier this morning reminding you of the date?”

Hope Spring queried.

“I must have missed it.” Said I archly.

“I also wanted to ask how the poem was going?

We started talking casually as you were writing it.

You were having trouble naming it.”

She said.

“I couldn’t think … how about ?”

We both spoke at the same time and laughed.

“Hope ….hope springs eternal!”

The good of it all had us in stitches. I doubt my aunt Virginia would have approved with her dislike of such humour.

“Have you got the poem with you?” Hope enquired.

“No. Sorry, hope some of the lines are a bit muddied.” A reply that made me blush.

Virginia would have scowled.

“Maybe the next time we meet you’ll have it done.” Hope again.

That sounds promising I muttered to myself.

“Yahoo…..you two love birds.

Have fun. See you at the local coffee house.”

Sonia and Winifred's message as they passed by on their bicycles jolting us out of our conversation.

“Lovely people. Maybe we should take their advice and head off that way.”

Hope placing her right hand on mine.

I nodded in agreement.

“I’ve had this strange feeling all day that I’m being watched… another presence.

Ever had that feeling ?” Miss Spring enquired

innocently.

“As I haven’t been in this town for long

it seems more intense than the usual curiosity.” She continued.

“Shortly after I arrived in this

area I met a charming couple called the aherns.

They warned me of gossips who fed on eavesdropping and misfortune.

Maybe that’s it. I’m certainly grateful for their warning.” Said Hope.

I could barely restrain myself at this bizarre twist that Virginia would definitely

have found amusing.

At that I walked towards the cafe with Hope while craning my neck, taking in all all my surroundings and noticing everything!!

Photographs and short story extract mantrabay copyright protected.

Thanks as always for reading and viewing my posts.

I appreciate that.

[mantrabay]

Hope Springs Eternal Part 2.10

One should be cognizant of tread marks of a different kind that await all of us.

But attitude is key. A timeless trait.

More fodder this for that colourful cryptic creation I’m churning about in my brain.

One could not help but notice the dwellings in this compact charming but claustrophobic town.

They were spreadeagled to a fault with scant regard for privacy or personal space.

Neighbours like nodding polders wave from their aluminum polycarbonate verandas.

The sort with integrated guttering and moulded frames.

All packed together like crates in a warehouse.

A carbon copy of some construction company’s catalogue.

The trailing shrubs, wilting flowers in mosaic porcelain propagators, superimposed trellises and overstocked pools to name but a few.

They only served to reinforce their stylish if somewhat stifling similarity.

I was mindful of today’s appointment thanks to my tarnished gold watch and the sonorous chiming of the nearby chapel clock.

Of course one must not overlook Mr and Mrs Ispy as they were nicknamed locally.

The naughty snoops who were minding everybody's business bar their own.

Adam and alma ahern were their names.

Aunt Virginia had some scathing words about their type.

“Some people base their whole world around tittle tattle.

They are grounded in matters that smart folk view with Olympian disdain.”

One can just imagine the cocked ears and protruding noses feasting on every scrap of scandal real or contrived.

Theirs was an in-built antennae always aligned for mischief of the murkiest kind.

They had an ubiquitous presence.

You never knew what hedge or door they might pop out of.

They sniffer dogged their way around every trail, route, and byway in pursuit of some scurrilous rumour.

Encylopaedic were they on shenanigans of all kinds.

A satellite dish for backstabbing and intrigue.

Some were even so unkind as to suggest that they spied on each other.

They knew everybody and wormed their way into everyone’s confidence when they could!

Gossips at the cutting edge of trivia.

“Oops ….oh no! I’m about to crash.”

I said with my voice trembling.

Lost concentration for a minute.

My notepad and pen skating on a footpath that resembled a small scale ice rink.

Aunt virginia's word’s about focus were never more valid.

“ There goes my poem on ...a mudpatch.”

Despite this sudden intrusion I kept my balance but maybe lost something valuable.

A tumult of events on the ground and overhead took place.

Shrill birds chirping and circulating in the sky, swooning and swooping like a scene from an Alfred Hitchcock movie.

As I slowly regained my balance I walked wearily and warily towards the diary with said verse.

The lines were smeared with mud.

Uncannily like a lady’s mudpack.

The heartfelt lines were still legible.

Well, just about.

My heart was beating for various reasons now.

I had a 4 pmdeadline to meet with forty or so minutes to spare.

Yet there were so many distractions.

An embarrassment of diversion sometimes towered above that stultifying uniformity which threatens even the most imaginative town architecture.

Or was my mind playing tricks on me with all the soundscapes and stimulation of the senses?

The downside of being a poet and writer perhaps?

Virginia’s words of wisdom coming back to haunt me but would I listen ?

The real world and fantasy can segue into one another with distinctions blurred and the usual proneness to exaggeration.

Were the exotic whiffs of Bombay mix recipes emanating from a market place bazaar or some nearby dwelling?

Were they just an illusion with factual elements mixed in?

Either way a favourite haunt of both the Ispy’s and the teen couple I had spoken to earlier was a marketplace.

Both had their own agenda with the aherns being the

more devious!

Pumpkin seed baps on spits reeking of sesame oil with the most aromatic seasonings wafting everywhere or so I thought.

Incense and Moroccan spices taunting the nose of this stroller on a mission. But also setting off rumblings in the tummy that couldn’t be sated immediately.

A very vivid image of Virginia with her Mona Lisaesque demeanor appeared.

I was juggling her insights on punctuality and other matters and trying to act on them.

Was I clutching at an ebbing twilight zeal or a burgeoning young at heart momentum?

Distractions make inroads into time but I felt I was being drawn to them.

Did I hear the raucous sound of docker’s voices barely audible but imaginable above the booming traffic?

Were they coming from somewhere close?

Maybe the ships trademark foghorn was setting off an overactive mind or had I supernatural powers at this point in my life?

Whatever the truth, there’s been many a threadbare naval yarn I’ve overheard.

The type that has been twisted, embroidered, embellished even marinated on seas high and low.

Gag induced guffaws billowing upwards as smoke from a chimney stack.

Uproarious bonhomie drowning out the offloading of fetid fish catch.

The vortex of a spiraling timeline giddy with impulse and image drove me on in defiance of their colour and charisma.

But before I knew it a wafer thin voice called out from the corner shop, the location of my rendezvous.

“Hello. Hope spring. I’m your date.

Bang on time both of us.”

A Spritely lady in her late sixties with profuse greying hair.

Her eyes were so expressive and sparkled with life.

“Don’t know if I shared my last name when we first met.”

“You did.” I replied.

Virginia, would be proud of my recollection.

“Did you get my call earlier this morning reminding you of the date?”

Hope Spring queried.

“I must have missed it.” Said I archly.

“I also wanted to ask how the poem was going?

We started talking casually as you were writing it.

You were having trouble naming it.”

She said.

“I couldn’t think … how about ?”

We both spoke at the same time and laughed.

“Hope ….hope springs eternal!”

The good of it all had us in stitches. I doubt my aunt Virginia would have approved with her dislike of such humour.

“Have you got the poem with you?” Hope enquired.

“No. Sorry, hope some of the lines are a bit muddied.” A reply that made me blush.

Virginia would have scowled.

“Maybe the next time we meet you’ll have it done.” Hope again.

That sounds promising I muttered to myself.

“Yahoo…..you two love birds.

Have fun. See you at the local coffee house.”

Sonia and Winifred's message as they passed by on their bicycles jolting us out of our conversation.

“Lovely people. Maybe we should take their advice and head off that way.”

Hope placing her right hand on mine.

I nodded in agreement.

“I’ve had this strange feeling all day that I’m being watched… another presence.

Ever had that feeling ?” Miss Spring enquired

innocently.

“As I haven’t been in this town for long

it seems more intense than the usual curiosity.” She continued.

“Shortly after I arrived in this

area I met a charming couple called the aherns.

They warned me of gossips who fed on eavesdropping and misfortune.

Maybe that’s it. I’m certainly grateful for their warning.” Said Hope.

I could barely restrain myself at this bizarre twist that Virginia would definitely

have found amusing.

At that I walked towards the cafe with Hope while craning my neck, taking in all all my surroundings and noticing everything!!

Photographs and short story extract mantrabay copyright protected.

Thanks as always for reading and viewing my posts.

I appreciate that.

[mantrabay]

Hope Springs Eternal Part 2.8

One should be cognizant of tread marks of a different kind that await all of us.

But attitude is key. A timeless trait.

More fodder this for that colourful cryptic creation I’m churning about in my brain.

One could not help but notice the dwellings in this compact charming but claustrophobic town.

They were spreadeagled to a fault with scant regard for privacy or personal space.

Neighbours like nodding polders wave from their aluminum polycarbonate verandas.

The sort with integrated guttering and moulded frames.

All packed together like crates in a warehouse.

A carbon copy of some construction company’s catalogue.

The trailing shrubs, wilting flowers in mosaic porcelain propagators, superimposed trellises and overstocked pools to name but a few.

They only served to reinforce their stylish if somewhat stifling similarity.

I was mindful of today’s appointment thanks to my tarnished gold watch and the sonorous chiming of the nearby chapel clock.

Of course one must not overlook Mr and Mrs Ispy as they were nicknamed locally.

The naughty snoops who were minding everybody's business bar their own.

Adam and alma ahern were their names.

Aunt Virginia had some scathing words about their type.

“Some people base their whole world around tittle tattle.

They are grounded in matters that smart folk view with Olympian disdain.”

One can just imagine the cocked ears and protruding noses feasting on every scrap of scandal real or contrived.

Theirs was an in-built antennae always aligned for mischief of the murkiest kind.

They had an ubiquitous presence.

You never knew what hedge or door they might pop out of.

They sniffer dogged their way around every trail, route, and byway in pursuit of some scurrilous rumour.

Encylopaedic were they on shenanigans of all kinds.

A satellite dish for backstabbing and intrigue.

Some were even so unkind as to suggest that they spied on each other.

They knew everybody and wormed their way into everyone’s confidence when they could!

Gossips at the cutting edge of trivia.

“Oops ….oh no! I’m about to crash.”

I said with my voice trembling.

Lost concentration for a minute.

My notepad and pen skating on a footpath that resembled a small scale ice rink.

Aunt virginia's word’s about focus were never more valid.

“ There goes my poem on ...a mudpatch.”

Despite this sudden intrusion I kept my balance but maybe lost something valuable.

A tumult of events on the ground and overhead took place.

Shrill birds chirping and circulating in the sky, swooning and swooping like a scene from an Alfred Hitchcock movie.

As I slowly regained my balance I walked wearily and warily towards the diary with said verse.

The lines were smeared with mud.

Uncannily like a lady’s mudpack.

The heartfelt lines were still legible.

Well, just about.

My heart was beating for various reasons now.

I had a 4 pmdeadline to meet with forty or so minutes to spare.

Yet there were so many distractions.

An embarrassment of diversion sometimes towered above that stultifying uniformity which threatens even the most imaginative town architecture.

Or was my mind playing tricks on me with all the soundscapes and stimulation of the senses?

The downside of being a poet and writer perhaps?

Virginia’s words of wisdom coming back to haunt me but would I listen ?

The real world and fantasy can segue into one another with distinctions blurred and the usual proneness to exaggeration.

Were the exotic whiffs of Bombay mix recipes emanating from a market place bazaar or some nearby dwelling?

Were they just an illusion with factual elements mixed in?

Either way a favourite haunt of both the Ispy’s and the teen couple I had spoken to earlier was a marketplace.

Both had their own agenda with the aherns being the

more devious!

Pumpkin seed baps on spits reeking of sesame oil with the most aromatic seasonings wafting everywhere or so I thought.

Incense and Moroccan spices taunting the nose of this stroller on a mission. But also setting off rumblings in the tummy that couldn’t be sated immediately.

A very vivid image of Virginia with her Mona Lisaesque demeanor appeared.

I was juggling her insights on punctuality and other matters and trying to act on them.

Was I clutching at an ebbing twilight zeal or a burgeoning young at heart momentum?

Distractions make inroads into time but I felt I was being drawn to them.

Did I hear the raucous sound of docker’s voices barely audible but imaginable above the booming traffic?

Were they coming from somewhere close?

Maybe the ships trademark foghorn was setting off an overactive mind or had I supernatural powers at this point in my life?

Whatever the truth, there’s been many a threadbare naval yarn I’ve overheard.

The type that has been twisted, embroidered, embellished even marinated on seas high and low.

Gag induced guffaws billowing upwards as smoke from a chimney stack.

Uproarious bonhomie drowning out the offloading of fetid fish catch.

The vortex of a spiraling timeline giddy with impulse and image drove me on in defiance of their colour and charisma.

But before I knew it a wafer thin voice called out from the corner shop, the location of my rendezvous.

“Hello. Hope spring. I’m your date.

Bang on time both of us.”

A Spritely lady in her late sixties with profuse greying hair.

Her eyes were so expressive and sparkled with life.

“Don’t know if I shared my last name when we first met.”

“You did.” I replied.

Virginia, would be proud of my recollection.

“Did you get my call earlier this morning reminding you of the date?”

Hope Spring queried.

“I must have missed it.” Said I archly.

“I also wanted to ask how the poem was going?

We started talking casually as you were writing it.

You were having trouble naming it.”

She said.

“I couldn’t think … how about ?”

We both spoke at the same time and laughed.

“Hope ….hope springs eternal!”

The good of it all had us in stitches. I doubt my aunt Virginia would have approved with her dislike of such humour.

“Have you got the poem with you?” Hope enquired.

“No. Sorry, hope some of the lines are a bit muddied.” A reply that made me blush.

Virginia would have scowled.

“Maybe the next time we meet you’ll have it done.” Hope again.

That sounds promising I muttered to myself.

“Yahoo…..you two love birds.

Have fun. See you at the local coffee house.”

Sonia and Winifred's message as they passed by on their bicycles jolting us out of our conversation.

“Lovely people. Maybe we should take their advice and head off that way.”

Hope placing her right hand on mine.

I nodded in agreement.

“I’ve had this strange feeling all day that I’m being watched… another presence.

Ever had that feeling ?” Miss Spring enquired

innocently.

“As I haven’t been in this town for long

it seems more intense than the usual curiosity.” She continued.

“Shortly after I arrived in this

area I met a charming couple called the aherns.

They warned me of gossips who fed on eavesdropping and misfortune.

Maybe that’s it. I’m certainly grateful for their warning.” Said Hope.

I could barely restrain myself at this bizarre twist that Virginia would definitely

have found amusing.

At that I walked towards the cafe with Hope while craning my neck, taking in all all my surroundings and noticing everything!!

Photographs and short story extract mantrabay copyright protected.

Thanks as always for reading and viewing my posts.

I appreciate that.

[mantrabay]

Hope Springs Eternal Part 2..5

One should be cognizant of tread marks of a different kind that await all of us.

But attitude is key. A timeless trait.

More fodder this for that colourful cryptic creation I’m churning about in my brain.

One could not help but notice the dwellings in this compact charming but claustrophobic town.

They were spreadeagled to a fault with scant regard for privacy or personal space.

Neighbours like nodding polders wave from their aluminum polycarbonate verandas.

The sort with integrated guttering and moulded frames.

All packed together like crates in a warehouse.

A carbon copy of some construction company’s catalogue.

The trailing shrubs, wilting flowers in mosaic porcelain propagators, superimposed trellises and overstocked pools to name but a few.

They only served to reinforce their stylish if somewhat stifling similarity.

I was mindful of today’s appointment thanks to my tarnished gold watch and the sonorous chiming of the nearby chapel clock.

Of course one must not overlook Mr and Mrs Ispy as they were nicknamed locally.

The naughty snoops who were minding everybody's business bar their own.

Adam and alma ahern were their names.

Aunt Virginia had some scathing words about their type.

“Some people base their whole world around tittle tattle.

They are grounded in matters that smart folk view with Olympian disdain.”

One can just imagine the cocked ears and protruding noses feasting on every scrap of scandal real or contrived.

Theirs was an in-built antennae always aligned for mischief of the murkiest kind.

They had an ubiquitous presence.

You never knew what hedge or door they might pop out of.

They sniffer dogged their way around every trail, route, and byway in pursuit of some scurrilous rumour.

Encylopaedic were they on shenanigans of all kinds.

A satellite dish for backstabbing and intrigue.

Some were even so unkind as to suggest that they spied on each other.

They knew everybody and wormed their way into everyone’s confidence when they could!

Gossips at the cutting edge of trivia.

“Oops ….oh no! I’m about to crash.”

I said with my voice trembling.

Lost concentration for a minute.

My notepad and pen skating on a footpath that resembled a small scale ice rink.

Aunt virginia's word’s about focus were never more valid.

“ There goes my poem on ...a mudpatch.”

Despite this sudden intrusion I kept my balance but maybe lost something valuable.

A tumult of events on the ground and overhead took place.

Shrill birds chirping and circulating in the sky, swooning and swooping like a scene from an Alfred Hitchcock movie.

As I slowly regained my balance I walked wearily and warily towards the diary with said verse.

The lines were smeared with mud.

Uncannily like a lady’s mudpack.

The heartfelt lines were still legible.

Well, just about.

My heart was beating for various reasons now.

I had a 4 pmdeadline to meet with forty or so minutes to spare.

Yet there were so many distractions.

An embarrassment of diversion sometimes towered above that stultifying uniformity which threatens even the most imaginative town architecture.

Or was my mind playing tricks on me with all the soundscapes and stimulation of the senses?

The downside of being a poet and writer perhaps?

Virginia’s words of wisdom coming back to haunt me but would I listen ?

The real world and fantasy can segue into one another with distinctions blurred and the usual proneness to exaggeration.

Were the exotic whiffs of Bombay mix recipes emanating from a market place bazaar or some nearby dwelling?

Were they just an illusion with factual elements mixed in?

Either way a favourite haunt of both the Ispy’s and the teen couple I had spoken to earlier was a marketplace.

Both had their own agenda with the aherns being the

more devious!

Pumpkin seed baps on spits reeking of sesame oil with the most aromatic seasonings wafting everywhere or so I thought.

Incense and Moroccan spices taunting the nose of this stroller on a mission. But also setting off rumblings in the tummy that couldn’t be sated immediately.

A very vivid image of Virginia with her Mona Lisaesque demeanor appeared.

I was juggling her insights on punctuality and other matters and trying to act on them.

Was I clutching at an ebbing twilight zeal or a burgeoning young at heart momentum?

Distractions make inroads into time but I felt I was being drawn to them.

Did I hear the raucous sound of docker’s voices barely audible but imaginable above the booming traffic?

Were they coming from somewhere close?

Maybe the ships trademark foghorn was setting off an overactive mind or had I supernatural powers at this point in my life?

Whatever the truth, there’s been many a threadbare naval yarn I’ve overheard.

The type that has been twisted, embroidered, embellished even marinated on seas high and low.

Gag induced guffaws billowing upwards as smoke from a chimney stack.

Uproarious bonhomie drowning out the offloading of fetid fish catch.

The vortex of a spiraling timeline giddy with impulse and image drove me on in defiance of their colour and charisma.

But before I knew it a wafer thin voice called out from the corner shop, the location of my rendezvous.

“Hello. Hope spring. I’m your date.

Bang on time both of us.”

A Spritely lady in her late sixties with profuse greying hair.

Her eyes were so expressive and sparkled with life.

“Don’t know if I shared my last name when we first met.”

“You did.” I replied.

Virginia, would be proud of my recollection.

“Did you get my call earlier this morning reminding you of the date?”

Hope Spring queried.

“I must have missed it.” Said I archly.

“I also wanted to ask how the poem was going?

We started talking casually as you were writing it.

You were having trouble naming it.”

She said.

“I couldn’t think … how about ?”

We both spoke at the same time and laughed.

“Hope ….hope springs eternal!”

The good of it all had us in stitches. I doubt my aunt Virginia would have approved with her dislike of such humour.

“Have you got the poem with you?” Hope enquired.

“No. Sorry, hope some of the lines are a bit muddied.” A reply that made me blush.

Virginia would have scowled.

“Maybe the next time we meet you’ll have it done.” Hope again.

That sounds promising I muttered to myself.

“Yahoo…..you two love birds.

Have fun. See you at the local coffee house.”

Sonia and Winifred's message as they passed by on their bicycles jolting us out of our conversation.

“Lovely people. Maybe we should take their advice and head off that way.”

Hope placing her right hand on mine.

I nodded in agreement.

“I’ve had this strange feeling all day that I’m being watched… another presence.

Ever had that feeling ?” Miss Spring enquired

innocently.

“As I haven’t been in this town for long

it seems more intense than the usual curiosity.” She continued.

“Shortly after I arrived in this

area I met a charming couple called the aherns.

They warned me of gossips who fed on eavesdropping and misfortune.

Maybe that’s it. I’m certainly grateful for their warning.” Said Hope.

I could barely restrain myself at this bizarre twist that Virginia would definitely

have found amusing.

At that I walked towards the cafe with Hope while craning my neck, taking in all all my surroundings and noticing everything!!

Photographs and short story extract mantrabay copyright protected.

Thanks as always for reading and viewing my posts.

I appreciate that.