Fictional History

By Kyoto Tig

Includes ten original short stories by independent author Kyoto Tig.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

1. ATALAYA
Trapped between reality and delusion, Atalya is worshipped and feared by the tribes she influences from the in between.

2. the HIDDEN DOOR
Sinister forces lurk behind a hidden door in the dream recollection about a childhood home.

3. GHOST in the MIRROR
A girl's supersanity introduces her to the ghost of Lady Isobel Shaw, a story about the last moments before her fall from the tower of Ballygally Castle.

4. WORLD of Sorrows
A man finds himself in a fever nightmare where he falls victim to the Inquisition in this tale of life and rebirth.

5. TOWER GREEN
Anne Boelyn is remembered through the eyes of her executioner in this look at the power of taking a life.

6. the MACHINE
What price we pay to be born anew, for destruction must come to make room for the rebirth.

7. FADED
History fades into lost time as Emily visits an old hospital that burned down.

8. the RED GHOST
Lillith is mother to the race of immortals in this tale of feuding tribes and what destiny has planned for us.

9. the IMMORTAL
A look at the world from the eyes of the Loc Ness Creature, watching life transform from her birth during the Great Flood to the modern world telling of her legend.

10. ONEIROS
A recollection of all the outlandish things that somehow make perfect sense when we are dreaming. A celebration of the subconscious.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kyoto Tig
• Release date: Mar 25, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476355108

Kyoto Tig

Kyoto Tig is an American author, crafter, blogger and aspiring violinist. She finds inspiration in the world around her and the world within her. Her writing style is mainly reactional, i.e. how she perceives and processes the history of the world around her and the history that is created in her dreams.

Book preview

Fictional History

By Kyoto Tig

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2009 (print) /2012 (smashwords) Kyoto Tig

ISBN/EAN

978-1-476-35510-8

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Thank you to all my inspirations, dreams, my mad mind, and to all my lovelies.

The Becca, Christie Pearson, my A.T. tech guys (both of them), Amber Waves, James, the folks at the Emilie Autumn forum and various writer’s groups.

Without your inspiration, nurturing of my ideas, constructive criticism, and encouragement, these stories would never have made it on paper, much less to a printer of any sort. ♥

Dreams (and perhaps, a bit of morbid fantasy) the Hidden Door, World of Sorrows (in part), the Machine, Shadows, Oneiros.

Musings Atalaya, the Immortal, the Red Ghost (who knows the real story anyway?), Ghost in the Mirror (pt 1/3)

History World of Sorrows, Tower Green, Faded (urban legends count), Ghost in the Mirror (pt 2)

This book is dedicated to everyone who finds escape in strange truth and creativity.

Much Love,

Kyoto Tig

Fictional History

A collection of musings, dream recollection, and short stories

Atalaya

The Hidden Door

Ghost in the Mirror

World of Sorrows

Tower Green

The Machine

Faded

The Red Ghost

The Immortal

Oneiros

About the Author

FICTIONAL HISTORY

A collection of musings, dream recollection, and short stories

Atalaya –

She falls in love with everyone that crosses her path; it is her nature. Always something unique in someone, though at the heart of it all the same thing in everyone, stirring in her the desire to hold, to posses, and caress the men and women she sees.

When the world was new, she watched maidens trade their virtue for their freedom, granting the men who gave their coin a moment to make believe they were touching her, the goddess that granted their carnal needs, their spiritual desires.

Temples were erected in her name, in many names (though none truly hers). Goddess of love, lust, desire. Around the world the temples changed, rituals varied, more names granted. Ishtar, Astarte, Aphrodite. On another side of the world girls are tethered to her spiritually, the very meaning of their lives to worship her, keep her earthly home. Waiting for that moment for a warm body pressed against their flesh, to channel the goddess, to be the goddess.

Others avoid her name, admonish against her influence. They call her Temptation, Darkness. Something inside all of us, our birthright, our curse. Must be kept locked away, never to be thought of, never to be touched. She is The Warning, The Downfall, the Thief of the Forbidden Fruit.

They were all beautiful characters, in their own way, each the star in their own tale, a magic to offer the world. All of them sought to touch her at any cost, she herself aching to feel their connection.

They are all right about every story, every assumption. Though none could truly fathom the entire truth of her story.

She is the Watch Tower, the veil between logic and delirium built of what her charges call stone. She is every story told of her, every story yet to be told. She is the world on both sides of the fence guarded, though separate from all that is real or dreamed.

She seeks frenzy while in the guise of a woman. From sacred rights to the most soul-shattering crime, all performing any favor to be the one person who has the Forbidden Touch.

When she calls, those who come to her always do so willingly. Some turn her away, and she will return to them. Some will change their minds and follow, some will still have no cause (some would say the Blessing) to accept her as guide. Those who refuse her never understand the euphoria of the road for which her watch tower falls.

She waits forever, whether there is someone who believes in her or not. She exists forever, whether the temples stand or fall. There is one, or so she’s been told, that can touch her flesh, hold her against their body, fill her with the soul of what is real or what is dreamed.

How long has she been waiting, how many has she lured to her side in hopes that her walls would crumble forever and she is no longer a fence, a/part from both sides…

If asked she would tell you that it does not matter, offer to grant your greatest desire. In her presence, woman or tower, she will always be the only one a mortal could ever wish for.

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The Hidden Door –

My dreams are processes and amalgamations of what goes on in my daily life, how they're interpreted in my head, and what issues are there (this is neither new or unique to me), so it makes me wonder what issues I’ve got that had me murdered in my dream.

I remember lying there, keeping my eyes closed, vision blurred through half closed eyes, breath as stilled as I possibly could keep it, hoping that the person guarding me wouldn't notice there was still life in my body before she found the distraction that eventually came to grant me opportunity to flee.

But I have gotten ahead of myself.

I have this recurring theme in my dreams: the houses I have lived in, or the houses my friend's have lived in.  They’re never the same as when I was there, always something different.  An odd addition, secret passageways, hidden rooms.  This dream featured a friend's house, with a secret room where in reality there is the parlor.  The room was like the back of a department store, or those huge file rooms on the television shows.  Shelves and racks filled with useless junk.  Fascinating, but useless nonetheless.  My friend, our friends, some kids barely in their teens, me; must have been a dozen of us, sorting through dusty old books, clothes (such pretty, ancient clothes), trunks, knickknacks and thingamajigs. 

Our moment interrupted by screams like the cries of the Bean Sidhe, LEAVE! Fear turning the back of my neck cold as we all sought escape, but it was a maze and no-one found their way out in time.  Angry hands grabbing at us, pulling us away to who-knows-where, we couldn't see, couldn't think through the grabbing and the screaming.  We were taken to a room, laid down on beds, on the floor, guarded by malicious eyes,