Post by CynanMachae on Mar 14, 2012 10:46:23 GMT -5
CynanMachae, or Cynan, as his friends and fellow Stephen Lawhead fans knew him, slowly pushed the door open with an eerie, drawn-out creeeeeeeeeak. From what he could tell through the doorway, it was dark inside the Stephen Lawhead Reader forum, although the whole place seemed softly illuminated by some blue light, as if a moon was hung for the specific purpose of casting delicate beams across the forum.
Stepping inside, Cynan found himself in that familiar grand entrance hall, still recognizable despite the years of dust that had accumulated on once-vibrant topics. Everything, it seemed, was covered with white sheets, though who had put them there, Cynan didn’t know. It wasn’t as if he and the others forum members had decided all at once to say goodbye and cease all activity in this place; instead, lives prevailed, and one by one each of them visited less and less frequently and then not at all, until the forum was a distant memory for everyone. Cynan decided that the dust-sheets had been draped over the threads by some general caretaker, who came in after all activity stopped and had gently laid each conversation to rest.
Making his way throughout the old entrance hall, the ceiling stretching high above him and the worn stone floor cool under his bare feet, Cynan lightly ran his fingertips over sheet-covered threads he had once enjoyed. Stopping at a particularly odd-shaped topic, he gripped the white sheet in his hands and pulled it away with a sudden burst of energy. The flurry of the fabric as it whipped back was out of place in the hall, but the poetry was lost on Cynan who marveled at the topic as the dust settled around him.
The Birthday Thread, he whispered. Now there’s a pretty thing. Momentarily distracted from the picturesque oldness of the forum, Cynan quickly turned to check for a birthday today. Just above the door, he saw displayed Gwenhwyfar’s name. Happy birthday, Gwenhwyfar, he said to himself.
Turning his attention to the staircase, Cynan could hardly keep himself from leaping up the steps. His feet drew groans from each stair, and his hand ran along the rail as the ascended to the balcony, which overlooked the entire hall. Three locked doors stood in a row, and Cynan recognized the nameplates: Faerie Fire, Piccadilly Square, and the Cairn.
Looking out over the hall, Cynan took the whole scene in. It was good to be back, even if it was just for a moment. Venturing a bit of excitement, Cynan said aloud,
“Hello, is anyone here?”
Stepping inside, Cynan found himself in that familiar grand entrance hall, still recognizable despite the years of dust that had accumulated on once-vibrant topics. Everything, it seemed, was covered with white sheets, though who had put them there, Cynan didn’t know. It wasn’t as if he and the others forum members had decided all at once to say goodbye and cease all activity in this place; instead, lives prevailed, and one by one each of them visited less and less frequently and then not at all, until the forum was a distant memory for everyone. Cynan decided that the dust-sheets had been draped over the threads by some general caretaker, who came in after all activity stopped and had gently laid each conversation to rest.
Making his way throughout the old entrance hall, the ceiling stretching high above him and the worn stone floor cool under his bare feet, Cynan lightly ran his fingertips over sheet-covered threads he had once enjoyed. Stopping at a particularly odd-shaped topic, he gripped the white sheet in his hands and pulled it away with a sudden burst of energy. The flurry of the fabric as it whipped back was out of place in the hall, but the poetry was lost on Cynan who marveled at the topic as the dust settled around him.
The Birthday Thread, he whispered. Now there’s a pretty thing. Momentarily distracted from the picturesque oldness of the forum, Cynan quickly turned to check for a birthday today. Just above the door, he saw displayed Gwenhwyfar’s name. Happy birthday, Gwenhwyfar, he said to himself.
Turning his attention to the staircase, Cynan could hardly keep himself from leaping up the steps. His feet drew groans from each stair, and his hand ran along the rail as the ascended to the balcony, which overlooked the entire hall. Three locked doors stood in a row, and Cynan recognized the nameplates: Faerie Fire, Piccadilly Square, and the Cairn.
Looking out over the hall, Cynan took the whole scene in. It was good to be back, even if it was just for a moment. Venturing a bit of excitement, Cynan said aloud,
“Hello, is anyone here?”
I'm guessing life's been a whirlwind lately!
inside blinking her eyes in the first light she had seen in a long time. Her eyes were slits and somewhat red but they shone deep blue and revealed a gracious soul, clever wit, the radiance of a million dancing stars. The most beautiful women they had ever seen opened her even, red and lushious lips to say, "What took you guys so long. I need a shower like nobody's business and you try peeing into a bucket for a couple years!"