Danyel: Wait a minute… If Lenny is your imaginary friend, couldn't you make him whoever you want him to be?
Charlye: No. Lenny wouldn't be happy 'bout it. And that's not how it works.
Recent activities have been recorded in a penalty book*. Repetitive writing of a hundred lines, a forfeit unsure of its worth—for now, for the actions intended yet undone. What are you talking about? This is not about the 4 pre-schoolers who were punished for opening the damn door for a stranger on the street and humiliated by the class of 20 adolescent accomplices, having to re-enact with the bathroom?? door as of a hundred times. No. That was a ridiculous counter-action, too much a rightist. This, on the contrary, is voluntary; believed not that, of the thought that counts. More than 700 lines hitherto, a short story that may well be too indulgent for a proper reader. The ending yet unknown, the story can not be continued as the subject of the writing seemed to have vanished and banished from the author's castle in the air. Could the subject not been real, real as of alive and of tangible existence, after all? Úna Elfred anticipates the conclusion but all she can do is, wait. And wait.
"Kim and Jessie, they have a secret world in the twilight.
Kids outside worlds, they are crazy about romance and illusions"
If Kim and Jessie be neighbors at Walker House or friends at The Book Club, she'd love to hang out, chat about the outside world and be invited to their hideout. Úna had ready the-run-for-it-sack, in the last 2 decades it sat in the blue painted built-in wardrobe of o-eight-o-six on Coco Hill. In case of emergency, she had in mind, packed were the precious ones; death was a constant query and has recently returned. What were in the suitcase? Cutesified trolls with bright-colored hair in a themed land printed on both sides. A juvenile she was, ironically in defiance of death, she'd not realized until now. Little ponies and po-la-la-la-polly pocket paradise, some pencils, the best outfit and a pair of socks. No diary, no money, no worries. Always ready, just not today, she thought. Left alone. To the lighthouse, safe at sea. She needs a name, at least.
Úna Elfred did it again. Today, she ran away. Hold that thought.
Recent activities fed onto this other world, coded in ones and zeros, it is quite bizarre. As is with using the bluetooth device and having your digital files transferred from the mobile phone to the computer. Without blinking your eyes, you still couldn't see, except the presence of creepiness felt. Got ghost. No. Maybe. To be fed on the computer screen, the private lives of friends-once-strangers, or more likely of strangers-once-friends. Zuckerberg's design of this social platform is plausible and questionable. You know what I am talking about, I hope. A strangers' reunion, rather than a high school reunion. Some of these people, no longer who you thought them once to be. A is married to B, and so did C to D, E has a newborn F, G is all grown up, H has broken up with I, J must have been stalking abouts K's, L no longer on M's list, N poked O: vice versa, P is having a party where Q, R and S were invited except T, U had a bad day and V is ecstatic, W is now at X's while Y was tagged in Z's. The edited versions of A-Z, people she'd known from places they'd been in different phases of her life, now all kept uninvited to her birthday party. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em; such a theory kept Úna dwelling in this crimson whirlpool of cynics. Though not all bad, Úna caught up with Eryc last summer after a decade thanks to that and recently, daily updates of Bob-the-ranger-cat recovering from multiple death threatening surgeries. A documentary-soap-drama. But what do we know about how Bob really feels? And all those pictures of what they had for breakfast, lunch and dinner? Oh come on! Grey, it is! Though not all bad, she'd love being fed updates of certain people on her list, 4 or 5 in particular she'd like to know if they are kicking on, the others being closest friends who live in different cities, thumbs up for random funny feeds and information regarding shows not to be missed. What a hypocrite, I know.
The first time Úna Elfred met Bob, it was 11ish one evening. She sat, on the wooden picnic bench table outside a 24hours bistro, as she watched Bob scouted the grass patch on the other side of the road. Sniffing around in the dark, the lone ranger strolled his turf. Looking, looking for something. "Bob!" Ty shouted for him as Bob was ready to roam further down into the alley behind the motel. "Back here!" Of which he hesitatingly did. Bob is a grey tabby, not a regular stray you bump into on the streets but the adventurer, amongst the 7 or 8 cats that Ty+Bllr took in from the streets. Bob gets to wander outside in the day and returns promptly at dusk. His buddy, a blind feline, walked by an elderly; they started talking. The cats did. An unfamiliar conversation went on. We waited and care not to stare. Something about nothing we know of. The second time Úna Elfred met Bob, it could have been 11ish one evening. She was waiting for Ty as she watched Bob came down the stairs; from inside the car she spied. Bob snooping around and down the 5-foot pavement, making his rounds. Looking, looking for something. "Bob!" Ty shouted for him and he came resting on the passenger seat. They talked. Úna and Bob. 'Bout everything and nothing we know of. "How's the bladder doing?" she asked. "Not good," Bob replied. Both took a sip of the stout and quenched their thirst in unison as Úna took the wheel and drove through the pitch-black heath. The headlights were off. The accelerator held down further as she lit up the cigarette. It was quiet. Too quiet. "Life sucks but it is short," Bob advised. "Dude, you've got 9!" She retaliated. It was a slight bump, onto a gravel road and within seconds, they felt the plunge. The tires on no ground felt, they were falling, not floating. On the next beat that their hearts skipped, Úna opened her eyes and all she could see were the converging lane markings illuminated by the headlights. They chuckled. Úna took the next exit and drove Bob back to Ty's. "Hey, what were you looking for?" Úna shouted out of the window from the driver seat as Bob walked away. "I found it tonight actually thanks to you," he answered. "You're not answering the question… Hey!"
Úna Elfred rode on. The regular route 4.5 miles southwest, to southwest. From the glass dome, along the serpentine, out of the park from the barracks, on to the knights' bridge, then the square, pass the river on Chelsea towards the power station, round about queen's town, up the damn slope on Silverthorne, freewheeled down Wandsworth and Walker House in a minute to two. She tried to catch her breath as she brought the racer into the flat. By routine, she managed in the dark; the bike stationed in the corridor, keys tossed on the chest of drawers, gloves and coat removed, still catching her breath and the sweat felt on her back and underarms, before she could blow her nose, lights first please. Never fails to crash her pinky toe against the steel legs of the dining chair, a lesson never learnt, slouched over for the switch and a cup of tea, she thought. "AAAHH! What the?!" she was startled by Ohl, lying on her stripy red couch.
Ohl: This book's… funny, funny brilliant!
Úna: How the hell did you get in here?
Ohl: Your neighbor's well nice. He let me in. Chrys, I think his name is.
Úna: You stood me up yesterday. I waited by the mews, forever. Damn it Ohl.
Ohl: I'm hungry. I love the part about how she gave swimming lessons to the grannies. It's hilarious.
Úna: Me too. I mean I'm hungry and yes, that story's well good. Listen to the audio version. She narrated it. Eggs on toast?
Ohl: Mmm, ok.
Úna: So what do you want?
Ohl: Tuna melt.
Úna: Not supper. What do you want?
Ohl: Tuna melt.
Ohl: I've got a message from Waltr. Here.
Úna: Quit teasing. What 'bout it? It's not funny.
/ Úna grabbed the note off Ohl's. She squinted through his handwriting, solemnly.
Úna: He found it.
Úna: I've got to go.
Úna picked up the keys and slammed the door behind her. Lowered the window of the Skybird and took a deep breath. She drove, she couldn't think of anything else. She headed further south east where Waltr would be, somewhere along the 3-mile coastline. The wind roared against the raging waves, yet chaotic it was ordered and rhythmic. The chalk cliff seen from a distant edge shimmered in the twilight. The lighthouse erected from the water slightly off the shore emitted the cone of light, in a waltz. There he was.
/ She went up and sat next to Waltr under the fleece.
Waltr: You made it.
/ She saw the bliss in his eyes and felt a lightness in his arms.
/ He woke her up from her nap.
/ A red dot rose above the horizon at the end of the world and the light reflected a line that separated the ocean in two.
Waltr: It is, but temporary. Every moment, everything changes. Every color, every thought, every fall.
Úna: And it holds it all up again.
Charlye: Len… Would you come to the party with me?
Lenny: No, I am fictional.
Charlye: But Dan said I can make you whatever I want you to be.