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> Reality is but a Kumquat on the Sofa of Discarded Dreams.
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post Jan 3 2017, 10:02 PM
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"Reality is but a kumquat on the sofa of discarded dreams, in that a potato should halt the wheels of truth as time doth flow like a vibrant bean in a wellspring of effluent cheese."


Chopter 1
At the Start did Commence the Beginning

As it was, Agent Chuck Wendler was unsure of the circumstances that had befallen him. The man lay at his feet The man's head lay at the bed's feet. The bed had no feet. The woman upon the bed however, she did have feet. She was laid on her back, staring at the lazily rotating fan above her head. Her breasts were bare, not that you could tell from their lack of prominence. Her legs were parted like the red sea, and her cock socket was gaping wide like some wretched abyss. A stench most foul invaded the room, like fog in an oven.

It was a nostalgic scent to Agent Wendler. The smell of day trips with his father, reminding him of his childhood by the sea.

"The fish was good..." he muttered, before returning his gaze to the headless body before him. In his gloved hand, he held a small butter-knife. "The murder weapon, I think not. Blunt is it's blade, and capable of such a beheading it is not..."

He let his vision sweep the room, taking in the mahogany floor and crimson walls. A cold, morning light drifted in through the windows of the room, sending a slight chill down the agent's back, making his mind drift to the small cafe down the road, with it's warm chairs and hot coffee.

"Any ideas sir?" came a voice. Wendler turned to the door of the room, adjusting his glasses as he did so.
"The cut is clean." he responded, glancing at the severed head. "A butter-knife is not the weapon and I dislike the smell. I must get out of this room for a while, therefore, I need coffee."

Wendler walked casually by the man in the door, his long black coat billowing calmly as he did so. He stepped from the house, a small bungalow, and into the harsh cold of a winter's day. Frost touched down on the path before him and the trees were brushed with white. The man in the door joined Wendler outside.

"We have not found any evidence as to the couple's murderer yet sir, but we will keep looking." the man said.
"Very well, Colins. I cannot see the future, but a clue shall be revealed soon. I will consult the bean juice and let it's warmth divine the path we take." Wendler said softly, before wrapping his coat around him and making his way into the small town before him.

The cafe was small, as was the town. With a population of mere hundreds, the town of Ravensfell was one of not-so-well hidden secrets, where all knew all there was to know. But this murder, this was new. The local police could find nothing. No weapon, evidence, nary a clue to point in the direction of the killer. And so, Agent Wendler was called in. A master in his field, his use of cool logic and surreal prophecy had granted him many a victory in his line of work.

He bustled his way elegantly into the cafe, where the waitress serving gave him a smile and a wave.

"Coffee?" she asked.
"Coffee." he replied.
"Milk, three sugars?" she asked.
"Milk three sugars." he replied.
"Any luck on that murder?" she asked.
"No luck on that murder." he replied.
"That's your coffee." she said.
"That is indeed my coffee." he said.

She smiled at him and he sipped his coffee, realizing he had forgotten to pay. Again. She never minded though. He averted his eyes from his coffee for a second, looking at a picture on the wall. A red stag, standing bold in a forest of grey.

"Aye, 'tis a beaut that stag, ain't he lad?" came a gruff voice. Wendler thought the owner of such a voice should be gnarled and weather-worn, but the old man before him was as smooth-faced as a fresh apple.
"Is this a picture of your making?" he asked.
"Nay, nay, that be one of the Justin boy's one. Young lad that got himself killed. He took all manner o' pictures he did, of his hunts."
"His hunts?"
"Aye lad, he used to photographise all the beasts before 'e hunted 'em down."
"He was a game hunter? Do you think someone could have bore him anger for this?"
"Not likely non around 'ere. We all come from hunting stock around here. It's 'ow this town founded itself from way back."
"I see. Did Justin have any enemies in the town?"
"Not that any know of, but likely he had some none know of."
"Yes, I see. My coffee is getting cold, I should make a move soon."
"Aye lad, speak ye the truth!" the old man said, before hobbling off out of the cafe.

Wendler signaled the waitress, who made her way over to him swiftly.

"Anything I can help you with Mr. Wendler?" she asked.
"That man I was talking to. Who is he?" he asked. He noted the slight look of confusion on the waitress' face.
"What do you mean, Mr. Wendler? Just you and me in here. No one else has come in all day."
"I see. Never mind then."

The waitress went back to her duties as Wendler looked out the window. The man was nowhere to be seen.

"This is a scenario most strange and now my coffee is cold. I should get back to the lodge and eat a chicken."

Wendler drained his cold coffee and stood.

"My cup is empty and I must have my dinner, so I am leaving now Ms Faraday. No doubt, I shall require coffee tomorrow, so I shall see you then. Good day." Wendler called to the waitress. She smiled in response as Wendler left the cafe.

"Don't get men like that around these parts." came a croaky voice. "Don't let him sip away from you."
"Oh shush mama." Ms. Faraday blushed.

* * * * *

"A murder most fowl warrants a dinner most fowl." Wendler said, gazing down upon the roast chicken before him. Mr. Colins was sat opposite him, with a small bowl of soup.
"I am not too sure of the contents of this soup sir." he said.
"It is green, so it will be good for you. Drink up Colins, you need your energy if you are to grow taller."
"... Yes sir."
"Tomorrow, we have much work to do."
"But sir, it is still early in the day. Not even three hours passed noon. We can get much done today."
"I am having dinner now, so it is too late. Nothing will come to my mind after eating such a hearty meal."

The two continued to dine in silence for several minutes, until a man walked through the door.

"Say, Colins. Can you see that man?" Wendler asked. It was the same man that had spoken to him in the cafe.
"That old, decrepit relic? Yes, I see him."
"Thank goodness. I was speaking to him in the cafe earlier, but the waitress claimed she could not see him. I had feared she was going mad."
"Not that you were going mad, sir?"
"Why ever would I be mad Colins? I drink coffee every day, and exercise regularly. I cannot be mad."
"Yes sir."
"Ho! You there! Come join us!" Wendler called. The old man smiled a toothless grin and came and joined them.
"Tell me sir, who are you? The waitress claimed not to have seen you." Wendler asked.
"Aye, them that don't want to see, won't see as what they wish not to see, even if what they see is plain as a daisy in a field o' mud."
"... I have no idea what you just said." Colins muttered softly.
"Speak up Colins. How can anyway understand your absurdity if you mumble into your deathly soup like that?"
"Yes sir."
"So, good sir. Who are you?"
"I am but a figment of reality, bound to the minds of those who seek the truth, invisible to all others. I am the past, the present and the future, but only in the present can I be found. I have seen what is, I have seen what will be. The carpet is red and the sky is black. There is a mouse in the kitchen, but it is unafraid of the foot that comes upon it, for one does not fear what one knows not. An evil envelops this town, but the people wish not to see it, and so it is hidden behind the perfect veil of ignorance."
"What colour are the walls?" Wendler asked.
"Is that important?" the old man asked.
"I believe it might be."
"The walls are of wood. The man in the corner, he trembles. He knows the evil, but fears it not. He trembles from anticipation and excitement. He hears the song of those that come."

With no warning, the man disappeared. There was no sound, no flash of light. Just gone.

"What man sir?" Colins asked suddenly.
"What do you mean?"
"You asked me if I can see that man... What man are you referring to?" Colins asked once more
"... How queer. We appear to have come full circle." Wendel said, checking his watch. "It appears forces of an impossible nature are at work here Colins. Tomorrow we must have coffee for much work is to be done."

[I need sleep. More of this to come soon. Beware. It may get weirder.]


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post Jan 4 2017, 09:36 AM
Post #2

Loyal Pervert Slave
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The name made is sound like you were competing with the Letter Number for the title of Craziest Nutter. I'm not sure if I should be disappointed or relieved at the relative coherence of the story.

Continue as you were. "Weirder", *scoffs*, do your worst.

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