Supernatural Fiction posted November 7, 2017 Chapters: -Prologue- 

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The preface to the story.

A chapter in the book Club Extraordinaire


by Albedo039

I could tell you that this is a tale of legend or folklore. Perhaps. Or a memoir which weaves between times present and past. A study in life and death. It deals in dreams, desires and wishes. A tale of something we all possess.
All this though is nothing if you have lost your inquisitive nature; your will to explore.
So, open your doors and invite me in.
I cannot promise you riches, or loud endearing applause but there is something in here which can be forever yours.

What follows is a story as told by my good friend Tom Delaney.
We spent many an interesting evening recounting and exchanging tall tales. We often discussed the philosophy of dreams. Are they telling us something deep about ourselves? Why are they so quick to leave us, when we awake?
Sometimes we try to hold onto a fragment which persists in our brain for a little while. Throughout the day we can find ourselves linking one fragment to another piece and then another, if we are lucky.
Yet the enigmatic message remains a puzzle of the mind.
You are left to see what you want to see. That is all.

I tell the story to the best of my recollection. The words are written from Toms' point of view. How much is fragment, fiction or true, I leave completely up to you.

Tom was an engineer. Not of trains, steam engines, tug-boats or air-planes.
He was a specialist. An electric engineer.
He was quietly clever and certainly no fool.
Under pressure, he was level and measured, never blowing his cool.
Yet, strangely, he always carried a feeling; that somehow he should be somewhere else.

When he told people he'd repaired the DVD machine; they would laugh in his face. When he explained how the current travelled through chips to decode the data; people just looked into space.
He loved running whenever he could. This expanded his lungs and really helped him to breathe. Yet when he told of his feats of endurance, people would say '..but you don't look like a marathon runner!'. It was enough to make anyone seethe.

Still, he persevered. Even when he knew his efforts were wasted.
To cope, he liked to embellish with words, for dramatic effect. He spoke with a clear mid-land voice, no off-putting dialect. This made him feel different.
He just wanted respect.

"Some dreams start in the light and end in the dark. Sometimes you're an owl sometimes you're a lark."
After all, we all dream, don't we?

I cannot decide if I should continue with some comedic element in the story or do a more serious fictional approach.
Pays one point and 2 member cents.

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