She Moved In Worlds - Part 5

By JP Mihok

The many threads are gathered up as a completely unsuspected savior emerges, though is it too late? But the answer was always in your heart. Part 5 and the final part of the adventure in verse. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: JP Mihok
• Release date: Nov 18, 2016
• ISBN: 9780994030856

Book preview

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Chapter Thirty Nine

"Grief, and peace,

And wane and increase,"

(Inscription on an Old Bed – William Morris)

The flecks of fire lit countless flares

as chimes in waves on waves of chimes

were crashed in gusts from the open door -

clanged in clamours of tones and rhymes.

As sprites of wind would sportive fly

and through the shivering crystals weave,

the glittering canopy hung on high

waked in shimmering storms and heaves.

Under the tumultous surging seethes

of bells pipes ringing in knock, rebound,

by flaring of fire, in gusting breeze,

she lay 'mid the throb and rock of sound.

*       *

They moved from clamour of windy din

to where a great hearth roared and sparked.

Lay squinted out the door where, dim,

stood Nemo's bulk against the dark.

She—wrapped about the waist and salved

by greenish glop from out a jar—

felt better: brighter and involved;

returned to Life and all its cares.

She stroked first Nigel, then her hair,

and glanced across the leaf-strewn room 

at Mister Bangle's back, bent where

his wife was propped.

The Missus, (whom

she'd thought was dead or trapped or doomed,

who never moved nor spoke), she learned

commanded her companions two

with eyes that merely looked or turned.

I feel I'm home at last, said Lay,

as bells made hue and cry.

No harm,

it seemed, could come here.

Bright flames threw

a cosy, homely light, and warm.

*   

They dined in leaping-lighted cheer

on canned, reconstituted foods -

spaghetti, beans, and instant beer.

The Mister (mumbled in a mood

which made him slow to speak but did

not dim his beaming countenance)

in mutters 'round his mouthfuls, said

to Lay, what cause had led them hence.

His prompter Missus' flashing glance,

he paused as if to watch debate

of flames contending where to dance,

or else reflected on his plate.

The cat with avid fervour fed.

The sizzled fire would pop and crack

to interrupt him as he led

his tale along the Hunter's track.

"They hounded us, for hell and ill.

From moon to moon to moon were chased—

the Missus hanging tight until

we find out where they'll take her case.

"Behold the light on yonder hill.

It may be fires, may be flares

the battle stars have cast. I still

have my implanted phone right where's

the I-dee chip: they share a scar.

I hear the ghostly voices cry

to summon fighters to the war

that years ago had passed us by.

"I fought so hard to get us here,

'gainst many wicked sorts, and slow –

and how we made it through so far

I cannot tell, nor want you know.

"Your Trucker? Comatose, but not

to worry ought, his tale's not done.

He's in an air-force medic-hut...

and fighter blighters, there are none."

Lay digested, listened, drowsing,

fitfully at times arousing

when he chose to utter words, or

when the bawl of bells disturbed her...

or she noticed - grey and wide -

the stirring Elephant outside...

"Poor old Nemo's very nervous;

cannot calm him; things do try him;

misses doing Missus' service -

never happy 'less she's by him.

Makes me wonder if he'll shield her

from the Hospital... or yield her...

"Ought to rest. We leave, young lady,

early morning, soon as ready!"

Into dark he peered at Lay - she 

did not stir. He stood, unsteady,

worried -

saw her breathing deep—

the girl lay innocent, asleep. 

––––––––

She found, in the data ways,

barricades, screens

she knew were her doing -

she'd moved them between,

to close off a region

she ought to look on;

all feelers she ventured

to enter, were... gone!

With methods forgotten

and routines she knew,

attacked them and fought them

and strove to break through:

then, battered and wearied,

she breached the unknown - 

the barrier parried...

then stood to atone.

For here was no vision

she wanted to see;

the cause of division

which brought her to flee...

She stared. Oh, she knew him!

Oh, Timon! So long - 

she'd thought it forever -

she'd known he was gone,

and tried to forget him!

For surely... for she

could not cease to love him...

...she wished to be free...

And better she'd never

remembered him now,

for Evil forever

was writ on his brow.

As Nancy