WILLODEAN (THE CUPITOR CHRONICLES Book 1) by Fowler Robertson Page A
Authors: Fowler Robertson
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heard God’s voice. And I was sure of it…couldn’t no one convince me any different.
Underneath the rock and feather, there is an assortment of poems that Maw Sue gave me and on top of them in a beige pouch is several medicinal herbs from her garden. When she ran out of doctors in four counties who wouldn’t give her any more pills to take, she’d resort to the garden. The smell of the herbs themselves could change a mood in an instant. She showed me how to be one with the earth when all hell broke loose on earth. I could think of no time like the present, besides the soap smell was making me nauseated. I crushed the Rosemary and Sage leaves into my hands and rubbed them on my necks and my arms and put my hands up to my nose to take in their earthy fresh aroma. When I could no longer smell soap, I took out my pen and notebook. Maw Sue said it was good for those who are gifted with the Dumas of Umbra, the house inside me, to journal our thoughts in an effort to remember them because the curse can render us mindless without memories if we’re not careful. It was called, memory muzzling and it’s the Amodgians strongest weapon against us. I didn’t want it to happen to me, so I was meticulous to journal every day.
Today is a game changer. I am going to write a letter to my grown up self. The future me, the molt-have sex-die adult. Ewww. Just thinking about it gave me the heebie-jeebies. I sealed my namesake in blue ink and folded the paper vow into a square and placed it inside the mirror bin, closing the lid. The mirror attached to the outside lid, sparkled and glistened on the ceiling, and walls, followed by an array of shadows and things I try not acknowledge. I gasped suddenly. I had left the crackle outside when Lena had her hose fit. I bolted ou t the door slipping pass the octopus who now had a fresh bottle of wine next to her, while dad was fast asleep and snoring in his chair.
I stopped in the kitchen to pour a glass of water to avoid suspicion and then slipped out the back sliding glass door. It was ink splat dark ex cept for the small kitchen light making a key whole glare out the window. I walked to the edge of the cemen t patio until my eyes adjusted to the lesser light. The night sky was a thousand diamonds glistening and I paused for a second to wonder. Maybe I could learn to like the lesser light after all, especially when its beauty is jaw dropping. It wasn’t about the night sky anyway. Deep inside I knew what it was. I t was the dark house inside me that left me undone, most times, if not all times. Now, where did I put that crackle? I want to commemorate this day because if the dreadful curse of adulthood hits and I’m left to wander like a desert lizard with all the other idiots, at least I’ll have a reminder of what’s important; the simple, barefoot kid at heart who plays in the mud, dances in the rain, builds pine straw houses, climbs trees and plays sky cloud with the angels. At the end of each day, I want to stare into the lesser light and not be afraid and most of all, I want to make lovely my losses . I have to remember everything I’ve learned in case adulthood and molting inadvertently screws up my brains. And sex — God forbid! I don’t want to think about what that might do. After seeing it in a magazine once, I have never recovered from its strange affects. It was like an alien invaded my bones and swam through my organs causing all sorts of oddities, reflexes and gushing anomalies. If that’s part of being a grown up, I want nothing to do with it.
My eyes had finally adjusted to the dark and I found the crackle inside the broken tea cup at the edge of the patio. I held it gently in my hands an d slipped back inside the house. When I got to my room, I placed the crackle inside the mirror bin on top of my vow and closed the lid and then I let out a hopeful sigh. I hoped the mirror bin would
Underneath the rock and feather, there is an assortment of poems that Maw Sue gave me and on top of them in a beige pouch is several medicinal herbs from her garden. When she ran out of doctors in four counties who wouldn’t give her any more pills to take, she’d resort to the garden. The smell of the herbs themselves could change a mood in an instant. She showed me how to be one with the earth when all hell broke loose on earth. I could think of no time like the present, besides the soap smell was making me nauseated. I crushed the Rosemary and Sage leaves into my hands and rubbed them on my necks and my arms and put my hands up to my nose to take in their earthy fresh aroma. When I could no longer smell soap, I took out my pen and notebook. Maw Sue said it was good for those who are gifted with the Dumas of Umbra, the house inside me, to journal our thoughts in an effort to remember them because the curse can render us mindless without memories if we’re not careful. It was called, memory muzzling and it’s the Amodgians strongest weapon against us. I didn’t want it to happen to me, so I was meticulous to journal every day.
Today is a game changer. I am going to write a letter to my grown up self. The future me, the molt-have sex-die adult. Ewww. Just thinking about it gave me the heebie-jeebies. I sealed my namesake in blue ink and folded the paper vow into a square and placed it inside the mirror bin, closing the lid. The mirror attached to the outside lid, sparkled and glistened on the ceiling, and walls, followed by an array of shadows and things I try not acknowledge. I gasped suddenly. I had left the crackle outside when Lena had her hose fit. I bolted ou t the door slipping pass the octopus who now had a fresh bottle of wine next to her, while dad was fast asleep and snoring in his chair.
I stopped in the kitchen to pour a glass of water to avoid suspicion and then slipped out the back sliding glass door. It was ink splat dark ex cept for the small kitchen light making a key whole glare out the window. I walked to the edge of the cemen t patio until my eyes adjusted to the lesser light. The night sky was a thousand diamonds glistening and I paused for a second to wonder. Maybe I could learn to like the lesser light after all, especially when its beauty is jaw dropping. It wasn’t about the night sky anyway. Deep inside I knew what it was. I t was the dark house inside me that left me undone, most times, if not all times. Now, where did I put that crackle? I want to commemorate this day because if the dreadful curse of adulthood hits and I’m left to wander like a desert lizard with all the other idiots, at least I’ll have a reminder of what’s important; the simple, barefoot kid at heart who plays in the mud, dances in the rain, builds pine straw houses, climbs trees and plays sky cloud with the angels. At the end of each day, I want to stare into the lesser light and not be afraid and most of all, I want to make lovely my losses . I have to remember everything I’ve learned in case adulthood and molting inadvertently screws up my brains. And sex — God forbid! I don’t want to think about what that might do. After seeing it in a magazine once, I have never recovered from its strange affects. It was like an alien invaded my bones and swam through my organs causing all sorts of oddities, reflexes and gushing anomalies. If that’s part of being a grown up, I want nothing to do with it.
My eyes had finally adjusted to the dark and I found the crackle inside the broken tea cup at the edge of the patio. I held it gently in my hands an d slipped back inside the house. When I got to my room, I placed the crackle inside the mirror bin on top of my vow and closed the lid and then I let out a hopeful sigh. I hoped the mirror bin would
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