The Window

The attic window was being battered by the torrent of falling rain. It overlooked the old man's garden, blossoming with late-season flowers and ripe with the season's harvest. Pumpkins swelled to great sizes and the apple trees beyond the garden filled the trees, dragging their branches nearly to the ground. The scent of the the apples mixed with the mild scent of the rain and wafted through the window, reminding me of my aunt's pie, as well as that I was thirsty and that I hadn't eaten since noon. In my nervous struggle to stay focused on reading a language I didn't understand, I had completely forgotten my hunger. My stomach rumbled. It was too late now. Crook was most likely in bed, and the maid had probably finished working by now. I continued to look out the window.

As I gazed over Crook's property, I suddenly noticed movement I did not expect. I thought it might have been a person, but wasn't entirely certain. I strained my eyes to see if they could determine what it was beyond the yard that they had seen. For a time, I did not see anything again. But my curiosity was peaked; it was obvious that Crook's collection of books was as far from typical as one could get, and I sensed a sort of insecurity in Crook's personality throughout our short conversations. I wanted to know why he behaved that way, and what his involvement was with the supernatural, for that is what I assumed his book collection was about. I was certain that midnight intruders would be connected to all of the above.

Then I saw the movement again, just beyond the apple trees. A black, humanoid shape, I guessed about six feet tall, had just taken a step toward Crook's house from the shadow of the neighboring house's eaves. I lowered myself so that I was just peeping above the edge of the window. Whoever was out there held an umbrella, but not over its head; the person was also holding a large, open book, and placing the umbrella just over it as if to protect it from getting wet in the storm. It was looking around the place, up and down the house. I became nervous, but was certain that with the moon being obscured that night that it wouldn't be able to see me through the window.

Then lightening flashed, revealing all that was obscured by the dark night. I was certain it had seen me, for as soon as the lightening had flashed, it kept staring straight at the window I was peering through. A chill crawled through me, and I ducked out of view, my breath quickening. After a few minutes, I caught my breath again. I slowly moved to peer out the window once again, my hands trembling a little as I placed them on the wall for balance.

As I looked out again, I couldn't see the figure where it had stood. I scanned the entire view, and I could find no trace of the shadowy being. I sighed with relief. I was about to lay down and go to bed when I noticed a faint warm glow coming from below the window. The source of the light was too close to the house for me to get a good angle on it, and I couldn't see what it was. After a moment, I decided to sneak down the ladders to get a look through a window that would be level with the light source.     

Spontaneous Poetry by Bryceus Lowryeus

Chocolate pie, cheesecake

And Chocolate cake,

These are what dominate this kitchen.

So stop your whining, throw away your peas,

And satisfy your sweet tooth itchin'.

Spontaneous Poetry by Katticus the Uninspired :B

In a little cranny

Beyond a little moor

A little swab was sweeping

and mopping up the floor.

Magicae Artis freewrite

A bent,​​​​​​ venerable ​​​​​​​​​​man​​​​​​ sat​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ on a bench staring at the falling autumn leaves. As a leaf would detach itself in a slow, melancholy manner from its summer-long tree limb, the great-bearded man's eyes would follow it as it swayed back and forth, downward until it softly touched the grassy ground. Then the man's eyes would look up again and follow another leaf in exactly the same fashion. Every now and then a leaf would land on his long, white beard. After a time, he began to look like an old tree himself, so still except for his faded green eyes slowly following the gentle fall of the leaves, his beard now more orange with leaves than white with whiskers. I began to wonder what he was doing, but tried again to focus. If the man noticed I was paying more attention to him than to my studies, he might be slightly perturbed, but that wouldn't do; I was trying my best to impress him with my pretended scholarly nature. Sitting on the grass, I quickly glanced back at my book; an old, weathered, leather-bound tome that was scribed in Latin, probably hundreds of years ago. That's all I could decipher, however, and was trying to think of the best excuse I could give the man when he asked what I learned from reading the book. I only knew several words in Latin, such as 'caesar,' 'gymnasium,' and 'vomitorium.' Not exactly an impressive vocabulary, and far from the scholarly experience the man was hoping I had nearly as much of as my aunt had promised him.

"You're not even reading!" snapped the old man, suddenly. His previously wandering eyes were now eerily intensified and locked on mine.

"Yes sir, I am," I replied, and in as sweet a tone as I could muster.

"No, you're not. Don't lie to me, boy," he paused momentarily, glancing briefly at a leaf that was falling near him. He looked back at me. "Your eyes have been darting back and forth from me to the book. But you're not reading the book when you look at it. Your eyes aren't following the lines. You're just staring at the pages in their entirety and it's ridiculous! If you're half as knowledgeable as your aunt has told me, how did you get to be? By daydreaming? By staring at strangers?"

"Excuse me, sir. I can see why you'd think that," I stalled, trying to fabricate a story for why I didn't appear to be reading. "You see, I found one particular passage to be quite interesting and so I paused to read and re-read it and to think more deeply upon it." I smiled, and for a moment believed I had made the perfect excuse. Then it dawned on me that he would ask, "And what did that passage read?"

"And what did that passage read?" He asked, mimicking my thoughts. I'm sure he saw the luster in my face fade like the moon at sunrise, and I looked down at the book again. I mulled the title of the book over in my mind, looking for clues as to what the book might be about. The title was Magicae Artis. ​Then I looked at the chapter heading again, which, luckily for me, was on the same page I had been looking at all along. I sighed with relief, glad that I wouldn't have to discount myself further by physically perusing the book for clues. I only recognized one word in the chapter title. "Egyptus." And then my time was up. I had to invent my explanation.

"I was just surprised that this book traces the um, the art of magic back to Egypt." I looked up at the old man, and aside from beginning to wonder if he had a name, also wondered if I had done the trick or said something that was so simple to him that I should be embarrassed.

Much to my surprise, the man smiled. "Maybe you do have the mind of a scholar after all, which I doubt," he said, and quickly stood up, brushing his beard in an attempt to dislodge the thick layer of leaves that was enmeshed in the whiskers. He only half succeeded in this attempt, and leaving the other half of the leaf-mound still in his beard, quickly walked over to me. "You may close the book for now. But carry it for me. It's rather a distant walk to my place, and I am old and quite weary. Especially after watching your study habits."

"So you're accepting me as your apprentice?" I asked. He didn't look at me as he answered.

"Yes, we'll give it a try. But if you prove to be worthless after all, which I'm sure you are, then it's to the streets with you!" 

I gulped. "All right. Um, what kind of apprentice will I be? I mean, what is your trade?"

"Merely a simple book-keeper. And your tasks will be easy. All you need to worry about when you begin your training is keeping the books organized." The old man looked around the grove we'd been sitting in, put on his hat and began to walk down the earthen road that lead back to town. I watched him for a moment, then began to follow him.

"Sir, may I ask your name?" I said as I walked behind him. He was slow, and it was hard for me to feel natural about walking so much slower than my typical walking speed. After a while I began to doubt he would answer my question. Suddenly he stopped and turned around. I nearly ran into him, and in my attempt not to bowl him over I nearly fell over backwards instead. He let out a single laugh that was almost more of a grunt.

"All you need know me by is Master. If I decide I like you enough, you can call me by my name. But even though I've agreed to take you in for now doesn't mean I like you. Understand? We're not friends. We're not on a first name basis. Well, you're not. But I can call you whatever I want, Charles."

"All right, but are we on a last name basis?" I asked, trying not to be put off by his ill-tempered attitude. But inside I was starting to feel sorry that my Aunt Beth had given the man my name at all. Then I could have the satisfaction of also witholding my name from my new acquaintance. 

"My surname is Crook. But you call me Master, because that's what I am." He shook his finger at me as he spoke, then slowly turned around and began to walk along the path again. 

"And what is the town called where you live?"

"So many questions! Can't you just think and look around and enjoy the beauty of this place? Autumn only happens once a year you know, and it shouldn't be disturbed by young whelps such as yourself or their ceaseless questioning." A leaf above him began to fall, and his eyes were immediately transfixed upon it. He watched it until it landed at his feet. Then he looked at me and said, "You see, if I had answered your question and become engaged in a meaningless conversation with you, I could have missed the fall of that leaf. It's the only life that leaf will ever know and that means it only falls once!"

"Drat!" I sighed, "A leaf in England just fell and you missed it!"

"Shut your mouth, brat!" He said, and began to walk toward town much faster than I would have imagined he was capable of. I laughed aloud and began to follow him again, this time walking at a pace I was comfortable with in order to keep up with him.

Sick

While I made my word-count goal today, I was also sick. In fact, I don't feel much like writing anything anymore.

...GO!

I slowly came awake, pointed directly at my alarm clock. I groaned when I saw the time. It was 4:48, just twelve minutes before I was supposed to get up. I turned over to face the wall, and fell into a gentle slumber. I woke up again two minutes before 5:00. I resigned myself to watching the clock as it slowly ticked toward 5:00.... I gave up at 4:49 and got up. So much for sleeping well.

I snapped the alarm off, so I wouldn't have to here it, and turned the computer on. While it was booting up, I stumbled out of the room with bleary eyes. The house outside was dark, and it took me awhile to find my way to the bathroom. When I was done, I headed back to my own room where the computer monitor stared at me. Whatever got me into this, I thought. Oh well.

I wearily slumped into the chair and turned my Word Processor on. The screen blinked white, and I winced. My eyes weren't used to the dark yet. For the next hour, I let the words streamed. I slowly thawed from my sleepiness, and my fingers got a little less stiff. By the end of the hour, I had over 2000 words. Good enough.

I yawned and stretched. Shower time.

After that, my day was mostly consumed by school. I drudged through Anatomy and Physiology, and had a bit of fun in my other classes. When it was over, I hopped onto the buss, and started home. Sweet home. I was welcomed by an air of peacefulness; a younger sister doing math homework and a little brother munching on chips. I snacked with him for awhile and then we cleaned the room.

To make a long story short, I eventually sat back down and flexed my fingers. Writing time. And now I'm here, typing away. Killing trees.