Snow enough to muffle the devil's footsteps

It was almost three in the morning, the whole school deeply quiet. But in the east wing, the girls bed-rooms, someone was still awake. Nothing but the glow of the cigarette gave her away. Lucy, because it was she, wearing a pink stripped gown, was sitting in the window-chair while smoking a cigarette of more than tobacco. Which, of course, was forbidden. That's why the window was open despite the chilling cold. She throw a look at her still well-made bed.
Nightmares, bad dreams.
Maybe it's true the Devil takes care of his own, because she ended up visiting Rupe in DreamLand, tipsy and giggling.
.

The Nurse of Doom

"Tell me, my dear, did you have any trouble with your pets when you were younger?"
Lucy could hardly kept her face straight. It was difficult to decide if she felt more insulted or amused. A sudden tip-tap brought her back to reality from her brief day-dreaming. The sound of a heel tapping sharply.
"I don't think so, ma'am."
"Did you never have a pet? Interesting".
The nurse wrote something in her black-leather notebook. The heels of doom gloomily silent.
"I did have pets, ma'am, but no trouble".
"How did they die?"
"The first one died of old age. The second one, I had already left home, she went mad and I took her to the vet."
"And, even so, you said you don't have any issues with pets, do you?"
"No, ma'am".
"All right, then".
Lucy took a sip of tea. The nurse offered her some biscuits in her professional voice. Lucy didn't like the nurse and neither did she like the long sessions she had to go through once a week. Rupert could laugh openly about it, but Lucy was starting to get really nervous. The nurse was "someone" at Meestake. Bad marks in Masonry and a bad report from the nurse could make an absolutely dangerous mixture.
The heel of doom startled her. Lucy gave an apologetic smile while composing herself.
"Yes, ma'am?"
"My dear, I see you are distracted. It's all right, Mr. Carter has told me how hard you are working for his class. Keep the spirit up, my girl, hard work has always been the answer."
"Yes, ma'am".
"Another biscuit? No? Well, you may go now, dear."
"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am".
"Don't forget your assignement for next week"
Alone in her bed-room, Lucy read her task. What happened to Wendy after the Peter Pan affair? Discuss.
Lucy sighed in defeat. At least it was Friday. Hell, Rupert was going to split his sides with that one!
.

Too late

It's been too long. He has been away for too long. All those goodbyes had done their work, the matter was settled and there was no point in starting again.
It's been too far away. He had gone further than them. Surely, they would never fancy one or two of the paths he himself had walked. But that wasn't even close to the point. You can face death -or worse- and come back, but when you have been really, really close, your life won't be the same. Ever.
The adventurer swore, his hands clenched. Other hands pumping him, fingering him, driving him mad.
"I shouldn't meet you again. Never. You don't wish me well, boys."
"Of course we do!"
"You wish me normal. I'm not."
.

Muddy water

Thursday came in an awful way, the rain beating fiercely against the school. Lucy sighed at the view through her window, the grounds waterlogged, a filthy mist growing in the woods. She stuck the damned essay in her satchel and went downstairs for breakfast.
As always happened on rainy days, the whole school seemed to be chattering, talking about the weather and planning unusual, indoor, activities. Lucy ate slowly, a tight knot in her guts. Masonry wasn't affected by the weather.
Indeed, it was an awful class. A wet, muddy, frustrating morning. The lighthouse crashing and crashing again, each time the stones slipping from her soaked gloves when she picked them up to try once more.
After class, already inside the safety of the school, Mr. Carter took in the essays. Lucy sighed after giving in hers. Time to wait, sentence suspended until Morning.
The rain went on all day.
.

Strummin' my six-string

Week-days were unhappy for Rupert. Out of boredom, restlessness and worry, he had resumed his former occupation only a few weeks after Lucy entered Meestake School. He had quit a long ago, the moment he had returned to his home land.
In his youth, he had worked for years at the Mind Circus, playing with words, a tightrope walker of the Logos. Later, much later, the idea of settling down started to take root in the back of his head. When it had grown, he left the Mind Circus and moved to Southern land. A city by the sea crossed by a river of trees and flowers, a city inhabited by people of fire. He rented a flat, his own kingdom. Under the bleak light of the old lamp, he sat at the old desk and worked. He liked the new job. Cross-words. Not so different from the old one.
Then, one sunny morning, he saw her. One sunny, spring-scented morning, Rupert saw Luce. He followed her, mesmerized. She didn't see him, not until she moved to F. Land. Rupert had followed her.
Mesmerized.
.

Wrong road to Avonlea

Lucy's lighthouse collapsed again next class. And the next. On Wednesday afternoon she still had only a few lines written for the essay. She looked around at her bed-room. It was nice, quite cosy for a boarding school. Quite cosy for outside F. Land. Her first moments at Meestake had been nerve-racking. All the calm she had gained the second she decided positively to give herself up had gone. Not even the trial and the judges had broken it. But the unknown of Meestake did. Her heart started to slow to a normal pace when she, after being led down long wide corridors and some stairs, saw her new bed-room and instantly noticed the one single bed. She muttered a fervent thank you to the Powers That Be (If They Really Are).
That Wednesday she was very aware of the fact that it was a privilege that could be as easily revoked. Lucy turned her attention to the paper on the desk. "Consequences of a collapse, by Lucy Favorleigh. It depends on the magnitude of the collapse and the previous state of the building, which often is related to the quality of the construction. Therefore consequences can be from minor damage, easily reparable, to total destruction."
"It has to be enough", she said to herself, "at least it's absolutely true."
.

A miss is as good as a mile

On Monday, right after the morning break, there was Masonry. The class took place outside the main building, in the grounds next to the stables. Lucy sat at her place and stared at the cracked stones. Mr. Carter eyed her but said nothing nor interrupted her inmobile concentration. Carefully, Lucy picked them up one by one. Some had deep, neat fractures, others slight bruises. The touch under her fingers were of different kinds, rough, smooth, sharp.
She looked up, in the distance, trying to clear her mind. Something white moved in the orchard. A white cap. Then a face and the full figure of the nurse walking the path to the back door of the school. Lucy thought she could hear the nurse's heels tip top tip top. The stone in her hand fell. It broke with a smash.
The bell sounded. "Class, dismiss", said Mr. Carter, "work on your papers, ladies and gentlemen, remember they are due by Thursday."
.

P.S. I love you

Lucy was tired. Tired of trying. Tired of failing. The damned sword grazing her head. She was running out of time.
If only she could start her lighthouse with brand-new stones! But no, bloody Mr. Carter forbade it! She knew the trick was to smoothe the old ones and reshape them, but she never did it right, the fractures in them were too deep. A few days earlier, Mr. Carter said she didn't dig enough. Lucy stuck her tongue out at him.
It was late. She wanted to sleep, but she was too tired to rest. Missing Rupert so much was stressful. When he was close she forgot she was failing him too. She had to sleep. She and Rupert had a date in Dream Land.
Lucy took a sheet of paper with the school letterhead and wrote
My love,
I'm trying.
Lots of kisses,
Lucy.
.

What matters?

Lucy was sitting in a lonely corner of the library. She had been there for a long time, but the paper on the desk was still blank. Mr. Carter had given her an essay. Suposedly, it was going to help her building skills. Bloody Mr. Carter! That was why she was there, even if there weren't results yet.
Pouting, she took up her pen. Name five things you have to do before adding a stone. Lucy nibbled the pen while thinking. Nothing happened. She frowned, biting her tongue in concentration. Then, a slow smile blossomed on her face. Painstakingly, she wrote: 1. look at the stones already placed. 2. look again. 3. mend them. 4. mend them again. 5. look again.
Next class, Mr. Carter returned her paper with an C. But her lighthouse crashed down again. At the end of the class, Mr. Carter gave her another paper. Consequences of a collapse.
What matters?, she thought distressed.
.

The Humble Master

Not long before, Rupert had teased Luce for their neglected hobbies. "We are too lost in ourselves" he said only half jokingly, "our own greediness will kill us." She had died then dramatically in his arms, with a whole opera of sighs and gestures. He smiled at his own reminiscence, picturing with nostalgic colours her stretched arms and curved neck, lying playfully dead like a silent cinema star in her final scene?
Shit, it was still Tuesday!
He looked through the kitchen window, a steamy cup of tea in his hands. The snow covered all the garden. It would be hard for it, but old sayings held old truths. A snow year, a rich year. It would have been their first snow together, an unusual event so close to the sea, and he regretted not being able to share it full time with Luce. Even if Luce, cat-like as she was, would never have got her paws wet and cold.
God, he missed her!
.

Pig and Pepper

The good family has lots of hatred and lots of love. But, pitifully, not in a balanced way. Christmas had come and gone and they still were out of F. Land. Lucy was resigned. Rupert was sad.
Once or twice she was lucky and could hide in the garden to whisper dark secrets and sad questions to a lonely flower. Lucy hoped Rupert would listen to another lonely flower in his newly rented garden on the border of F. Land. Lucy told the flower terrible tales about families who practiced excess. She wondered about the true nature of family. How, sometimes, it seemed they needed to hurt themselves only to prove they still cared about each other. To prove it still mattered. Someone said once, no-one with a family can really be free.
Lucy missed Rupert. A few miles away, a lonely flower seduced Rupert with its fragance.
.

The Gift from Scaramouche

All the students were going to be sent home for Christmas Eve. The bed-rooms, the corridors, the grounds... all the school was bubbling with enthusiasm. Not only for the break, but for the end of term party. The second form had formed a band for the Yule Ball, but before that, the third grade had prepared a pantomime. Parents and friends had been invited too. Rupert went for Lucy.
It was really late when the parents left and it took a while for the school to quieten down at last. Whispers and laughs coming from the shared bed-rooms. A door silently opened. Careful feet going downstairs. The back window of the kitchen never closed well. Rupert was waiting.
"I'll come back the day after tomorrow" Lucy said between kisses, "they give me a pass just for Christmas Day."
"I'll be with my parents."
"How long?"
"A week."
Rupert kissed her. A really good kiss.
"Then we need a lot of memories to keep going until we see each other again."
"We have all night, Rupert."
.

Bad Marks

Lucy stared angrily at the red D on the top right of her paper. Anger and fury raging through her body. But she knew that even though throwing something at the wall would calm her down, it would worsen her current situation. Mr. Carter had been adamant when he had summoned her after class. If she kept failing Masonry, it would mean more than detentions. If she kept falling Masonry, she would have to share her room and, at worst, her visits forbidden! Outrageous! Lucy almost growled in sheer rage. The craving to let the anger run freely through her fingers was overwhelming. With a real but soft growl, she sat at the desk.
She was trying really hard, Mr. Carter couldn't say a word about that. But her lighthouses kept falling as inexorably as her marks. They fell down scattering mishapen stones all around. It should't be so difficult! She moved to the window-seat, sighing at the peacefully white, snowy view.
Her stones weren't ever well-balanced.
.

Memory tricks

El aventurero brinda y festeja. A veces hay caminos que vuelven a cruzarse. El cuerpo es traicionero. Posee su propia memoria, su particular adaptabilidad. Hay cuerpos en los que la carne se relaja, se amolda, se funde. Pero hay otros cuerpos en los que la tensión es fuego que quema, que hiere, que lucha. Hay cuerpos para abrazarse y cuerpos para perder el sentido. Sangre y huesos sin conciencia pero con memoria.
Existen leyendas de amantes fugitivos en playas de perlas, o de amantes contrariados enterrados uno frente a otro. Hechizos de amor y desamor. Fábulas y leyendas, cuentos imposibles. Princesas encantadas y príncipes encantadores. Embrujos. Maleficios. ¿El peor de todos? La maldición desequilibrada. Países separados por océanos y continentes la conocen. Ella siempre se vuelve loca. Él siempre muere. No es una historia agradable. Cuando el cuerpo y la mente no van en la misma dirección... bueno, el desequilibrio es evidente. Hay cuerpos que se llevan mejor que sus dueños. Hay dueños que se quieren más que sus cuerpos.
El aventurero folla sin piedad y ama con pasión. Ave de paso, nunca se queda. Tampoco pide acompáñame. Rompe la maldición a la manera alejandrina, sin deshacer el nudo.
Si la mente no está, los ratones juegan.
.

Improvising

It was a lovely day, despite the winter cold. The sun was bright and the roads had been cleaned and salted at last. It really was a fine Saturday. Lucy and Rupert had a lot of plans for Saturdays and a handful more for Sundays. The main one being together, the others... well, the others sometimes got forgotten in favour of some improvisation.
As each weekend since her boarding sentence started, Lucy sat down on the window-seat of her bedroom waiting for Rupert to appear, walking keenly, with his umbrella tapping the road.
She smiled when she saw him, carrying a basket in his other hand. Lucy took her coat and ran downstairs.
They ate the contents of the basket in the deserted swimming-pool hut. They hid there, their need to find Bubble Land imperative. At tea time they ate kisses and bites and flesh and the moon and the stars.
The bell calling the visitors startled them.
.

Advice from a caterpillar

"You have to talk, my dear, it's the only way."
Lucy stirred her tea with the teaspoon, even smiled, but said nothing.
The nice nurse chuckled softly and drank a sip of her own tea.
"You see," she said, "this is a school and you can't learn without listening and talking. When you come to this place it means you have failed at all the others. It's time to stop trying all by yourself and accept there's help available."
Lucy kept her sad smile firmly in place while the nurse's words floated around her, filling the room, seeping out through the windows.
She thought about the escape, the days hiding, the proverbial sword above her head, the new opportunities that had new duties... She thought how simple life was when there was just Rupert and her in it.
"You'll have to talk, dear,"
"I want to sleep", she announced. Then left the room and the nurse.
.

The rabbit sends in a little bill

Lucy was lucky, always had been, but in bizarre things. Her sentence had been changed and so she had to serve it in the Meestake Preparatory School instead of going into exile.
The morning after Bonfire Night, Lucy had spoken to Rupert. "I've made my mind up", she told him. She had decided to give herself up and he resolved to accompany her. A trial was set and three old men in black suits and black beaver hats sentenced her to boarding school. The school itself was outside F. Land.
Two days later, Rupert rented a house near the hill, from where he could see the school grounds and, on a good day, Lucy. At the top of the highest tree of the back garden, Rupert raised a flag. Two crossed joints under a steaming cup of tea.
.

Meestake Prep School

El prado se extendía en el horizonte hasta el linde del bosque. Aquí y allá brotaban asientos, bancos y balancines. Hacia el este, la fachada principal del edificio y la calzada que conducía hasta las magníficas escalinatas. Entre Bentleys, Daimlers y Aston Martins, Rupert y Lucy caminaban. La estación de ferrocarril estaba apenas a una milla y el paseo había sido muy agradable.
Atrás quedaba el cruce de fronteras, la tapia, las barreras, los pasaportes. El tren había sido registrado concienzudamente.
Era fácilmente discernible quién iba y quién acompañaba. Lucy tenía la mirada baja, Rupert la tenía triste.
Era un día soleado, cálido para la estación. El poste señalaba su destino: "Meestake Preparatory School".
.

Remember, remember

A penny loaf to feed the Pope
A farthing o' cheese to choke him.
A pint of beer to rinse it down.
A faggot of sticks to burn him.
Burn him in a tub of tar.
Burn him like a blazing star.
Burn his body from his head.
Then we'll say ol' Pope is dead.
Hip hip hoorah!
Hip hip hoorah hoorah!

Rupert ignored all the chants and the fireworks, he had his own fugitive to catch. And when he did, he was going to tell her clearly that leaving town didn't mean leaving him.
He found her sleeping in the open, pale face and soft snores. It had stoped raining a few hours after dark, the half moon was already high and clear in the sky.
It was sunrise and Rupert was still looking at her.
.

The day before Bonfire Night

She was regretting how hard the path is, how lonely. She said "I won't cry, I won't!" and she didn't. It was raining.
It was cold. She was shivering. No fireplace, no tea, no biscuits.
She wondered when missing F.Land came to mean missing Rupert.
Lucy was sad.

After the harvest

Lucy dreamed about the afternoon after the harvest. Some bats were flying over her. Lucy woke up and ran away from the creepy shack where she had slept. Bloody dark side of F. Land!
The sun was high in the sky when Lucy crossed a river with a picnic table on the bank. She remembered the dream and decided to honour it. So, she made an early stop and set the fire. Some potatoes and one onion she got from the land, a piece of butter she stole from a farm the day before and pumpkins, lots of pumpkins. She added some water and let it boil for hours. At night she had a hot meal for the first time since her escape. A wonderful, tasty pumpkin soup.
Then, she remembered. Rupert loved pumpkin soup.
The taste was sour in her mouth.
.

The Curse of the Wrong Door

The night was clear, the moon high in the sky. A dog barked. A man shouted. The dog barked again. Rupert awoke. The silence filled the darkness. He felt disorientated and confused. But something was horribly clear: he was alone. Luce wasn't there.
His bare feet made no noise on his way downstairs. There was no light from the living room. The fireplace was cold but not the kettle in the kitchen. The door to the back garden was open. Luce was sitting on the steps. He approached her silently, the orange point from his cigarrette a mark in the air. Rupert heard her before she noticed he was there, but she didn't stop. He sat inside, smoking and listening to the tale Luce was telling to the flowers of his own back garden.
She didn't look at him even once, as if he wasn't there.
Maybe she wasn't there at all.
.

A caucus-race and a long tale

No music, no dancing. Just going and going. She looked at the stars. Their indifference was reassuring. Their constant presence, soothing.

Lucy walked through a deserted farm, probably full of ghosts and bad memories. The woods were dark and no bird sang. That was a part of F.Land Lucy hadn't seen before.

She never thought what would be the consequences of entering the country illegally. Now she had found. One year plus one day.

Lucy didn't know, but in that very same farm, centuries ago, a spoiled brat had got drunk and joined the Navy full of irresponsible joie de vivre. He was unaware of the curse a spurned farmgirl had put on him.

Those who would go to sea for pleasure, would visit hell as a pastime.

.

The Flaw in the Plan

It was a quiet evening, a lonely one. The chill air in the wet night kept Rupert inside, trapped on the sofa playing the ukelele. He remembered another evening, the first of many, it seemed like a life ago, singing about her. About how wonderful it would be. Yes, it was. It was too much. It was a bloody new world. Even if it was the same old F. Land where he was born, where he had never wanted to return, it looked like a new country. "Damn, a whole new galaxy!" he thought, and his fingers missed the note.
Rupert sang and sang all night, missing her in each word. Maybe she could hear them.
That first evening he didn't think it could be so painful. He wouldn't have believed it. Bubble Land was a place he hadn't known yet. Then.
.

Pool of crocodiles

.

Down the rabbit-hole

One morning, Lucy received an official letter, easy to tell because a big well-known profile was stamped over the adress. "Oh, shit!" she thought. Nothing good ever came from an official letter. When things went wrong she seemed to be bad.
And she got punished. Always.
She opened the letter with shaking hands. She was informed, very politely, she had been condemned to a one year plus one day exile. She had to wait, very calmly, until they arranged her departure.
When Rupert came in the afternoon, he found the butterfly net over the worn leather backpack in the middle of an unnaturally clean living-room. He froze. Lucy smiled, too brightly.
"I'm going on a trip" she said, taking some maps off the table and hiding them in the side pocket of the backpack.
"Can I say good bye?"
"With a kiss, please."
They kissed. She went. He saw her leaving.
It was a sad afternoon.
.

In the shade of an oak

La siguiente misión lleva a las intrépidas exploradoras hacia el norte, hacia tierras abruptas, sembradas de peñas casi infranqueables, el horizonte punteado de crestas desoladas. La necesidad de su nacimiento fue también su muerte. Ciudades que nacen, crecen y mueren por la guerra. Cuando no hay más luchas, respiran sosegadas, como adormecidas. Solitarias, abandonadas a su suerte, ignoran el mundo. Hasta que otra batalla les recuerde su destino.
Ellas callejean despacio. El sol y las empinadas cuestas demorando sus pasos. Les han contado historias de muerte y destrucción. Sables, espadas, pistolas, fusiles. Tantos cadáveres. Los caminos traen la muerte. Quizá por eso sean tan escarpados. Más tarde descubren otras leyendas, otras muertes. Jóvenes enfermos de amor.
Horas después, de nuevo entre paisajes familiares, les resulta extraño. Cuentos de Scherezade en un oasis sin palmeras. Exóticos. Improbables en la realidad relajada de la vida junto al mar.
.

Almost gone up in smoke

Vestidas con ropas de lino crudo y calzadas con glamourosos salacots, emprenden la expedición. Desolados parajes donde, desde tiempos inmemoriales, lo que se apuesta es la vida. Un entorno despiadado, no apto para los débiles, ni hombres ni bestias. En épocas pasadas, aguerridos caballeros de bandos opuestos cabalgaban este horizonte rojizo y cruel, tragando polvo en galopadas furiosas, a veces ofensivas y a veces defensivas. Tierra de molinos y gigantes. El aire es seco, la luz es seca. No hay ninguna amabilidad en ella. Cuerdos y locos conviven por igual, no hay lugar para tibias medianías.
Almuerzan en una venta a la vera del camino. El regreso a casa está marcado por las risas. Risas fáciles de quienes viven a la sombra de la huerta.
.

Tanti ricordi

Llega el verano, hace sol, las faldas se acortan y los días se alargan. Las fiestas empiezan al anochecer. Hay bailes, música y risas. Sorbete de limón y hamburguesas de madrugada. Guirnaldas de papel y farolillos decoran la noche.
Cuando los invitados se van, las anfitrionas se relajan. El sofá es tentador y la mesita, más estratégicamente situada que Perejil, invita a poner los pies encima. Un té, un zumo, agua. Líquidos no espiritosos que no menguan los efectos de la fiesta. No todavía, al menos. Eso será mañana. De momento, es tiempo de tener los pies en alto y reir.
Cuando los invitados ya no están, las anfitrionas sonríen de verdad.
.

Kind Hearts

"I wish I were going back there."

"But I'd prefer to go to the countryside."

"Think about it, the bookshops, the museums... just for a few days... then coming back to the countryside... come on, Rupe..."

"I wouldn't mind going to London the day after the Apocalypse!"

"Ha!"

"Still get the museums and bookshops, but no people!"

"I think it depends on which kind of Apocalypse... the one with sulphur and fire won't be very good for the books."

"A very civilised kind! An English one."

"A virus of some kind, Rupe, and we are inmune! Because we aren't earthians but bubblians."

"People just politely lie down with no fuss, no mess. Just you and me, Luce, to the ends of the Earth."
.

One more

The napkins were folded like a Lady Windermere fan. The menu written in calligraphy. Every thing had been setted for the evening. Pretty clothes, fashionable hats, smooth gloves. The band played old songs and the couples danced among champagne glasses and murmurs.
But the moment came. She closed her eyes and blew out the candles on the birthday cake. Hugs, cheek kisses and congratulations. The guests ate cake, smoked cigars and, when the music started with renewed spirit, they boogied again.
"Have you made a wish, love?", whispered Rupert bending over her.
"Sssh" said the birthday girl "it's a secret."
"Dance with me, love"
"Of course. It's my present!"
They waltzed under the sign of Pegasus. At midnight the carriage turned into a pumpkin and the princess into little Lucy. The guests and the party disappeared. The band and the music too. But not Rupert, nor the cake. Pegasus was still flying over the sky. Rupert and Lucy danced in the silence. They flew with the thunder and the lightning, swinging in a rain of feathers.
.

Before the frost

.

Shadows through the ages

Once upon a time, a handful of little ducks got lost. When the elder ducks found them, they punished them. Later, the Quack Council, behind close doors, for three days with their three nights, pondered. On the fourth day, The Duck spoke.
"Bearing in mind all the aspects of the situation and what happened, this Council has decided to appoint a guardian. One of all of you will be from now responsible in all senses for the rest of you. The case has been given careful consideration as the situation requires. Being Duck nº1 and Duck nº2 the oldest of you, this Council decided one of them would be chosen. After humble and quiet deliberation, it is the will of this Council that Duck nº1 is your sergeant. At his command, duck!"
"Duck!!" quacked all of them in agreement.
With a few more quacks, Duck nº1 had all the little ones formed and ready. Duck nº2 was slightly apart, watching the new order be established. Duck nº1, fully conscieous of its new stripes, didn't make eye contact while the wee ones closing ranks and started to walk to the pond. One little duck at the bottom of the line looked at the silent Duck nº2, whispered something to the others in some kind of argument until another one turned to Duck nº1 to ask about the route. Duck nº2, closer and knowing the answer, stayed silent.
It was almost at the pond when a wee one asked Duck nº2 something.
Duck nº2 considerered its options.
Duck nº2 cracked a joke.
.

Lost with the rain

One morning Lucy went for a walk. She put on her wellies, took the butterfly net and walked the tiny road to the woods.
Little by little, the fog was getting thicker and soon the trees were just like shadows behind a grey cloak.
She was lost. Alone, wet and hungry. And lost. She couldn't call Rupert, she was beyond help. She knew she should have take precautions, either mark the path or stay on it. But she had been careless. She was careless. The glory of the sun and the chase of the butterflies a temptation too great for her. Easy, natural pleasures that she craved, but were her own highway to the hell outside F. Land.
"Listen to me, lads" shouted a bold man on the pier hardly two days beforehand. "The days of justice and reward are coming. Prepare yourselves for the punishment!"
Lucy didn't cry. She cursed and swore but didn't cry. What for? The damage was already done.
.

Love & Tea

In the days of wonder Lucy walked with a swing and Rupert sang cheerfully. They drank tea, he beat her at chess, she sunbathed. In the land of wonder the moans carried their wantoness through the green.
The imminent October would bring the Square of Pegasus bright in the sky. Sadalbari would meet The Chained Lady. Mercury pumping through their veins. Like liquid silver melting under their brightness. They loved, they anguished. Their tears fell down and cinnabar appeared in the earth.
A million light years away, Rupert and Lucy enjoyed a quiet evening staring at the sky holding hot cups of tea. The bright stars blessed them.
.

Lucy in the sky

.

Blue moon

Rupert doesn't know anything about F. Land because he was born there. Green is overrated. Rain is overrated. What Rupert does know is about happy places. He left almost twenty years ago, going in and out of style, always with a big smile. The happiness of those who leave. Selfish, bold happiness.
He doesn't know and he doesn't care. He has a ukelele, a back garden and a girl. A boisterous, flamboyant girl who makes his life brighter. And a lot more complicated.
Rupert was walking a slippery slope. Swinging between girls like a butterfly between two tempting, scrumptious flowers. Would he fall? And, more important, where?
Sometimes Lucy hinted a secret, little smile. Rupert fell in Bubble Land. With her.
.

Pilgrimage

The Church of the Holy Foreskin was little and pretty, hidden in a dark alley. Pilgrims from everywhere came to make their prayers. The hopeless added their votives offerings to the ones already filling the entrance. The side chapels had shelves from floor to roof crammed with what looked like the leftovers of a porn horror film, breasts, cocks, quims...
Jasper the cat, a runaway from the Peak District, watched them all, miaowing its disdain for the human race. Another kind of miaow prompted an answer from the fence of the church. Jasper the cat went there with its tail right in the air, a slow purr in its throat.
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Hard times

Life in F. Land is getting harder. Lucy feels that if she doesn't try harder, she will float away. Not expelled from F. Land but swept. Pity. Because she wants to be in F. Land. Oh dear, how much she wants it! Her life is a bubble in the green of F. Land, a bubble of bubble-happiness in her bubble-garden with her bubble-mate. Lots of pink and golden bubbles. But now she is afraid.
Fear is a bad thing. Fear keeps Lucy away from her fancy life. Nothing like fear to revert human nature to its internal beast. All sort of bubbles explode under fear.
Lucy had a bet. She lost. Years later she's still recovering.
Though she feels that, perhaps, she's ready to bet again.
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Drifting away

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Dear Jane

Dear Jane,
I don't know quite how to tell you this, but our hororscopes clash.
I think I first knew it when your sheepdog went berserk at the Hare Krishna prom, and I saw you punch out my spinach souffle. I'm sure you're gutless enough to see that "The Gong Show" stinks.
I'm returning your Darth Vader poster, but I'm holding on to my sanity as a keepsake. I want you to know that I'll tell my priest about your eggplant fetish.
With great relief,
Rupert
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The Church of the Sparkling Flowerhood

The lavender season reached its peak, the days were long and hot and the summer beat down.
Her Splendiferousness lay on the grass making a green angel. Rupert, sitting on the deck chair, lazily played the ukelele. The languidness of the day made them smile. The crickets chorused Rupert when they sang.
Her Sparkling Luminescence stayed all day outside, devouring the sun. Rupert stared at Her. The humblest minion or the treacherous, underhand Grand Vizier? Whichever reason, Lucy enjoyed being indulged.
Rupert revelled in his private pleasures.
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My House, My Kingdom

Lots of things were illegal in F. Land. Damn, lots of things were illegal everywhere! The things Lucy did at home were beyond punishment. The sins danced happily in her garden. She set up a party every afternoon for the pleasures and the joy and the Powers That Be (If They Really Are). Even the sun was invited, though it seldom came. Didn't matter. Champagne bubbles lit F. Land under the stars. Lucy had a castle, a kingdom. There were few rules inside. Less than few. Only one. She was the law.
On the wall in the living room was her scimitar. She used it capriciously.
The bright side of being a capricious girl is that capriciousness defies routine. But the paths of the pleasures are full of sacrifices. Being a true devotee of pleasure is a hard call.
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Never knew how much...

El aventurero fuma frente al fuego, la vista fija en la trucha que se asa sobre la piedra. Pero no la ve. La trucha que hay ante sus ojos no es la misma que hay en su mente. Esa otra trucha sucedió muchos océanos y continentes antes. Cuando eran cuatro los que hollaban caminos inexistentes. Una noche en la que la pesca se dio mal y la caza peor. Una trucha para cuatro. Pero la petaca de Merry y los recursos herbolarios de Penthesilea alegraron la cena. Fue una de esas noches. Sin rabia. Sin dolor. Sólo fiebre. Fiebre. Manos ásperas, caricias suaves. Penthesilea se abría como una Dama de Noche, fragante en su exhuberancia. Juegos gentiles. El aventurero se recuerda suspirando "Pemmm" con total abandono. Merry ardía a fuego lento. Disfrutaba quemándose. Los gemidos auyentaron a las bestias hasta el amanecer.
El aventurero maldice ante la trucha quemada. Otra noche sin cenar. No importa.
Se alimenta de amor.
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Wavering like it's glittering

She couldn't forget it. She had thought she was becoming a ghost. She had panicked. The fear, so deep, cracking her bones and withering her soul.
Sure. Rupert was there. Shoulder to shoulder. But she had shivered alone for weeks. Something had to be done. She had to do something.
At dusk, Lucy sat under the trees in the back garden, crossed her legs and rested her hands in her knees. Breathing deeply, she closed her eyes and tried to focus on the air, her breathing, the warmth of the falling sun. She traveled to her white panic room, where her white luggage was over the white sofa.
But it wasn't white anymore. It was... it seemed stained. Dark spots on the walls. Dark drops on the floor, as if the furniture had cried darkness.
Lucy smiled. Time for painting.
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It's the woman in you

Sometimes he smiles like the devil. Sometimes he is a saint with horns.
Lucy doesn't like that smile. It's not a common one. Fortunately.
Once, Lucy was cursed. She was cursed so deeply that it followed her into F. Land. Some days it makes its way up to the surface. Then, Lucy bitches. And she can do it really well.
It's not usual, though when it happens everything seems possessed by an unnatural rage. Lucy gives out waves of heat. A furious red aura surrounding her. She is totally pissed off.
And then more.
Because Rupert smiles.
That smile.
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Knockin' on Bubble's Door

"I'm so glad you came!"
"I didn't leave, love"
"But I didn't know"
"I love your pouty mouth"
"Kiss me, baby"
The fever, the noises. Arms and legs twisted. The wetness, the tongues.
"Is that a make-up fuck, my love?"
"No, it's a welcome back fuck"
"But I didn't leave!"
"Stop talking, Rupe"
He didn't stop, but the new words were sweet and hot and she didn't complain. Instead, she moaned. That wise tongue... Lucy felt all her blood rushing, flowing wildly, boiling.
"I love when you blush" said Rupert.
Though he wasn't looking precisely at her face.
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Wanderlust

Lucy was sitting on the grass, her hands cupping her knees. She felt so small. Rupert was gone. Gone! Or was it her who had disapeared? The sky was still grey, the afternoon lazy and the summer tempting. But Rupert had taken a plane to wherever and she hadn’t. Or maybe he had never been in F. Land and all was a monsterous error of her runaway imagination.
Travelling is a dangerous hobby. And not all the trips are in the open world. There are always dark continents to walk, adventures to live. But that uncertainty was killing her. Not knowing if she was dead or alive, even alive or in love.
The mirror didn't shown her image. She began to think Rupert had taken her with him, leaving just a footprint behind. A ghost. Sick with love.
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