Folded Thought of the Day:

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Memoirs of a Forgotten Man
-- The step that begins


A tribal gathering is going down in the alley, you both notice 
the pipe passing as she continues to lead you toward the place.. 
passing through a punch-drunk section, beat up, broken down, 
with canned fire heating the corners, projecting flamed shadows 
on all the faces that pass.  

Look around, get a feel, it couldn't hurt...

Stepping back, into an embrace.  She is side-stepping you both 
towards the center, away from the cracking glow.  You could 
resist but find no reason at the moment.  Entering a sphere 
of influence, through the membrane, past standing casualties -- 
bent, feeble, banished statues -- watching your back, waiting 
for a word, a sign, moving aside as you continue your progress. 

Seems she knows the head honcho here -- sending a wave as you 
arrive safely within earshot.  He happens to be in the midst 
of beginning a new story, pausing to disrupt the bottled flow, 
making that big leap, away from his people, passing the fire 
into your hands, revealing a face that's taken, or perhaps 
more properly, been handed, its share of lumps.

His followers settle in, remain quiet.. intently hanging onto 
the first words of the story.  A new chapter in a continuing 
tale of a western land and the troubles endured.  Plague, 
famine, pestilence, war, greed...  and this latest bit of 
turmoil, the disappearance of the children.  

You find yourself unable to remain quiet.

-- What land is this of which you speak?

The storyteller looks up.  Smiles.  

-- We've been waiting a long time for you to arrive.  Perhaps 
you could do us the kind service of remaining patient, you may 
even learn a thing or two.  Then we shall discover whether or 
not the news your bring is good.

-- But I bring no news.

-- You will... and to answer your question, the land I speak 
of has no name.  To reference it using its current identity 
would be to dishonor the people and cultures and identities 
of those who came before.

-- Then tell me what this land is like.

-- Another impossible request.  To arrive on one shore would 
be to step into a world of the future, with flying machines 
and buildings that rise to the sky.  To arrive on another 
shore would be to immerse yourself in the deep past, with 
ill-paved roads and building of stone.  And to arrive at a 
third shore would be to transport yourself into yet another 
world, with a language all its own and a people who have never 
experienced any other shore.  

This particular story is set in a township of moderate size 
located in the land's central province, where one day the 
children began to disappear.



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