Strata 8, Book of Immersion V1, Shabra, (Laws of Attraction)

  

Shabra (Laws of Attraction) 

Sexual attraction for humans is dictated by a reflex to engage in intimacy with others. This phenomenon can be influenced by physical cues alone, the way a human looks, moves, speaks an so on.

Romantic attraction may be described as deeper and yet may still be instantaneous, spurred on by feelings of wanting a relationship with another.

These two desires may appear together in a deep power of attraction.

The psychology of attraction is most peculiar to humans. It is not possible to create this phenomenon in machines whose methods of attraction use logical conditions to draw entities towards them. Predefined targets for machine attention avoid accidents, although machines are notorious for repeatedly targeting their attention on non compliant humans.

Likewise, human attraction is usually nonreciprocal. A machine programmed to give a human all it needs will often reap better results. But when dealing with human desires, neither machine nor human can ever guarantee positive results.

Jerome breaks an awkward silence, 'No *ishy, brother,' He stamped on another Scritter. 'Damn those nasty little *mudafinks!'

Renyke exits the concrete compound with Flex running anxiously behind.

The *robodog had waited patiently at the entrance and began wagging its tail and leaping around.

Renyke spots some graffiti with the Redact logo near an underpass. Maybeline crawled out of his coat and nudged his cheek for food.

'You sure you did the right thing brother?' asked Flex, who was now feeling agitated. His naive friend was likely to lead him into trouble. Perhaps it was time to take charge of the matter.

'Wheels is speed, wheels is protection my friend. We gonna stand out like *fucksyfools on the streets. People gonna target us! Words spread fast.' Flex explained still half running to keep pace.

'I can manage quite well,' said Renyke, 'You don't need to .......' Renyke trails off, distracted by a woman on the car roof.

She glanced over at Renyke.

'Oh well let's just go and ask her for her car then' said Flex.

'Are you mocking me?'

Renyke was genuinely unsure. He had always grappled with humour. Incongruous remarks always had to be analysed closely. A false analysis could be incompatible with overall provision of human satisfaction, which was paramount to his function in the world.

Mabel had used the word *nuke about some of her friends.

'I believe the woman to be nuke, explained Renyke, continuing with some confidence.
She exhibits a powerful energy, enough to engage a compelling force as I look on.

'Hahahahahaha.....' laughed Flex, that will make things worse, trust me, I have knowledge.

Tut, follow me,' sighed Flex reluctantly leading the way.

The woman was sitting on the roof of the car smoking a pipe and making smoke rings.

Renyke felt a momentary surge of something unknown deep inside him. Was it fear he wondered, Trepidation?
Things were not computing.

He checked the POS for his health levels.

...Normal activity presenting. 99.9% battery remaining. Nothing unusual to report.

But Renyke felt a strange fluttering feeling in his belly.

The woman sitting on the car whistled. 'Hey!'

'Like the coat! Cool *toggies. You wanna *swapsie-trade?'

The woman jumped off the car and lifted her fist for an air bump followed by an elbow bump, then a salute. Renyke tried to keep up but was cumbersome. He had seen these manoeuvres in old films on the *tellywebs but he had never actually performed them.

*'Wappens?' asked the woman in a strong accent.' Renyke guessed what she meant and said,

'I need transport, not far, just to Redact, do know that place?'

The woman laughed.....'Man like you, looks way too soft for the *guanty-travel.'

Renyke checks the POS.

'gaunty-travel'......colloquial, Zoners' slang roughly translates as a very dangerous journey

'But I can take to the second-zone, five miles nearer, then you gotta make your own ways,' she continues.

'What you go by?' she asks.

Renyke looks confused.......

'I'm Shabra. Lady of the Shadows, where I go no light follows, ya hear me soldier? I travel at night where there are no lights.'

'I'm Renyke,' he said, trying to decipher the poetry.

You wanna swapsie-trade the coat, or you got me somtin sweeta? I take nibs, bits.......1000 G-bits and you got me hired. But I like that coat too.'

'It's a good deal man, said Flex, 'good deal, five miles is five miles. We come too, me n the dog! I got no ties to this street.'

Flex looks at Shabra who sighs, 'Yeah yeah, whoever, no pipin' in my *vicular though.'

Renyke knows that Flex could be useful, and the robodog too. It was obedient and would do as it was told.

to be continued

@2023 Sarnia de la Mare

Links to episodes of Immersion written and illustrated by Sarnia de la Maré FRSA, published by Tale Teller Club

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Poetry TV presented by Sarnia de la Maré FRSA sounds like the most perfect thing ever

Tale Teller Club Academy of Arts™ from iServalan™ on Vimeo.

TV Show with Sarnia de la Maré FRSA

Introduction: In the ever-evolving realm of television, where genres intermingle and boundaries blur, a captivating new addition has emerged: the Poetry TV show presented by the dynamic Sarnia de la Maré FRSA. This innovative show goes beyond conventional entertainment, weaving together the threads of performance, words, and creative arts to create a unique tapestry of expression.

Sarnia de la Maré FRSA: A Maestro of Words and Performance: At the heart of this groundbreaking Poetry TV show is the charismatic presenter, Sarnia de la Maré FRSA. Renowned for her eloquence and passion for the written word, Sarnia brings a wealth of experience as a Fellow of the Royal Society of Arts (FRSA). Her ability to connect with audiences and convey the profound emotions embedded in poetry makes her the perfect guide through the rich landscape of creative expression.

Performance as a Living Art Form: What sets this Poetry TV show apart is its celebration of performance as a living art form. The stage is not just a platform for recitation but a canvas upon which poets, artists, and performers paint vibrant pictures with their words and movements. Sarnia de la Maré FRSA skillfully guides viewers through a diverse array of performances, creating a visceral and immersive experience that transcends the boundaries of traditional poetry presentations.

Words as Catalysts for Change: In a world where words hold the power to shape perceptions and ignite change, the Poetry TV show curated by Sarnia de la Maré FRSA serves as a powerful catalyst. The carefully selected poems and spoken-word performances delve into the complexities of the human experience, addressing social issues, cultural nuances, and personal reflections. Through the alchemy of words, this show invites viewers to reflect, question, and, ultimately, connect with the shared human narrative.

Creative Arts Collide: The fusion of creative arts is a hallmark of this Poetry TV show. Collaborations with visual artists, musicians, and dancers create a multidimensional experience that engages the senses and stimulates the imagination. The synergy between different art forms enhances the emotional impact of each performance, leaving an indelible mark on the audience.

Connecting Communities through Verse: Beyond its artistic merits, the Poetry TV show becomes a bridge that connects communities. By featuring poets and performers from diverse backgrounds and perspectives, the show embraces the richness of human diversity. Sarnia de la Maré FRSA's inclusive approach ensures that the audience is exposed to a kaleidoscope of voices, fostering understanding and empathy in the process.

Conclusion: The Poetry TV show presented by Sarnia de la Maré FRSA is a testament to the boundless potential of creative expression. By blending performance, words, and various artistic disciplines, this show invites viewers on a journey of introspection, connection, and appreciation for the beauty that emerges when different forms of art converge. In a world hungry for authentic and meaningful content, Sarnia de la Maré FRSA's Poetry TV show stands as a beacon of inspiration and a celebration of the transformative power of the spoken word.

Links to episodes of Immersion written and illustrated by Sarnia de la Maré FRSA, published by Tale Teller Club

Links to episodes of Immersion written and illustrated by Sarnia de la Maré FRSA, published by Tale Teller Club

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Strata 7, Book of Immersion V1, Jarome and the Scritters, (Trade and Barter)

Welcome to Immersion, you have reached Strata 7

Humans have developed uniqueness from animals through a process of cognitive evolution.
They are exceptional cultural learners and can read situations. These skills have enabled them to develop complex trading tools. They rely heavily on these skills to create abstract cerebral and linguistic representations when placing themselves in various environments.

The cultural and socio-political environment in which humans have evolved has led them to acquire the cognitive skills, particularly mathematical, to support a sophisticated disposition and capacity for reciprocal cooperation and conceptual ideas of property and exchange value. Humans are savvy, humans broker deals.

Outside there was an optimistic sun and the people bussied around the market unaware of any of the commotion that had occurred in the bank.

The POS informed Renyke that he had lost negligible battery power and there was no damage to his mechanical structures.

The robodog came towards Renyke and the female guide's cat leapt onto her shoulders.

Maybeline returned to Renyke's pocket for a nap.

'You got my Bits?' asked the woman

'Go to Hell!' said Renyke, counting the contents of the steal.

'We already in Hell Soldier Man,' cackled the woman who resigned herself to not getting paid and ran into the crowds, as lithe as the cat

Back on the main street Flex approached, smiling and jaunty. Renyke felt reassured to see him.

'I need a vehicle Flex, something to get me to where I am going,' said Renyke.

'Yes, yes, yes Mr. Leather Man, where you going is where I'm going. Let's find a veee-hicle. Jerome, he is the car man, he got cars, and bikes and scoots..... and copters, and airships so they say.'

'Take me to Jerome,' said Renyke.

****

Flex took Renyke into a disused concrete building as the robodog curled up and waited outside.

There are the echoes of voices, activity and motor engines being revved from another part of the building. There is a smell of fuel and mumbled communications. Somewhere too there is music.

Flex beckoned Renyke to Jerome's office, a ramshackle room filled with books. More books than Renyke had ever seen. Books were no longer used in most homes or schools and the paper shortages after the warmings had meant that they were no longer being produced. Paper had become heavily taxed and there were also problems with scritters.

Scritters were large crawling insects that had been made in a laboratory by the Russian military.

They looked deformed with big insect heads and metal body parts. At birth scritters are born with a soft back and they look for protection from any material that offers a hard shell. Because of the huge landfill areas the rubbish had provided the perfect materials for protection, plastics and metals mostly. During the Russia China wars scritters had been used to carry tiny incendiary divides on their backs as they could be trained easily and were not affected by the nerve gases. But after the wars, the scritters had bred like wildfire, devouring paper and trees and nesting in book spines where the glue offered a perfect cocoon for pupae. Whole libraries had been mutilated by them. They were a scourge on the planet and another reason so many houses were built on stilts in the Midcast Projects. The more paper they ate, the more they reproduced. Books and paper matter that had not been digitally copied had been devastated and lost forever.

'A car you say?' asked Jerome. 'I got plenty, but the fuel....we got no fuel. We are working on some alternatives, but all prototypes so far. They cut off our fuel after the riots. And the food supplies. I have been missing gummies, I loved those.'

Renyke nodded as Jerome continued....

'Transport is a big problem. You'll be better off walking my friend, if you can get through the tunnels. But there are booby traps all around the perimeters here in the zones.'

Renyke checks the POS for details but the tunnels are unchartered. The POS seemed to be struggling with connection and was operating intermittently.

'I have a hybrid cart,' continued Jerome. 'It runs on solar but only for about 3 hours per full charge if you do under 40km. And if it is a cloudy day, an hour. I can let you take it for 3000 G-bits. It won't get off the ground without jet fuel but it can drive on flat ground well enough. It doesn't hold the road well, but if you are a good driver, it won't be an issue.'

'Can you drive?' Renyke asked Flex.

Flex laughed... 'Of course I can.'

A scritter crawls across the floor and Jerome stamps on it. A black tar oozes from under his foot.

Jerome sees Renyke might be changing his mind about the deal.

'I will take TELL You got some TELL?"

The POS gets a signal......

...TELL: abbreviation of Tellurium, found in copper ore. Used in mobile phones, especially older versions where it was added to other metals improving their strength and hardness and reducing corrosion. Rare due to the demise of traditional copper mines.

Renyke begins to feel confused about how to get the vehicle and asks the POS for advice.

I am not programmed to have opinions, Renyke. I do not have access to data about the vehicle or the seller. But Redact is within walking distance.

Renyke looks at Flex and then at Jerome. A scritter is crawling up his boot and he throws it off with a kick. He feels a rising panic and a thumping in his chest which he does not recognise.

Finally, Renyke says, 'I will walk.'


To be continued
© 2023 Sarnia de la Maré

Links to episodes of Immersion written and illustrated by Sarnia de la Maré FRSA, published by Tale Teller Club

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Tranquil, a short story by Sarnia de la Maré FRSA from the Tale Teller Club

 Tranquil, a short story by Sarnia de la Maré FRSA from the Tale Teller Club 

Sarah answered the door.
The Priest smiled and Sarah let him immediately. Without taking off his coat, he said

‘Yes, indeed Sarah I can feel a terrible energy here. But I can help you now. Let us begin.’

David sat alone in a dark room. There was a table and another chair and a light hung from the ceiling, swinging, creaking. He hurt all over, it was the dull ache of disaster. It was cold, very cold. He put up his collar and folded his arms in an attempt to keep out a determined draft. There was dried blood all over his shirt and jeans which he couldn’t disguise. How long had he been here? He couldn’t be sure. This room was familiar now but the hours, days and months were not his own. He hadn’t been able to think straight and concentration after the incident had been sporadic. He wasn’t even sure when he had last eaten.


There was a door on either side of the room, to his left and to his right. He wondered if he could just get up and leave but some unknown force made him stay put. He would wait it out, besides, he was exhausted, he no longer slept.

In Sarah’s house the Priest lit candles and incense all around. He went into each room and recited prayers and passages of scripture. Sarah was not a Catholic but her situation had driven her to ask for help. Her life was almost beyond liveable. Her friend had recommended the Father who would guide Sarah through the process.

In the cold dark room the door to the right opened suddenly.

‘Hullo, hullo, David. Now, how are you this fine day?’

A man in a heavy coat and scarf entered the room. He was jolly and spoke in a thick Irish accent.

‘Well, now then, it’s not the warmest place is it?’ he continued, rubbing his hands together. ‘Ah forgive me’, he said, ‘let me introduce myself, I am Darragh O’reilly, and I am here to help son, only to help.’

Darragh walked to the side of the room and put on a heater.

‘That’ll warm us up soon enough he said,' pulling the chair out on the opposite side of the table and making himself comfortable.

‘A nasty business this David, but we can sort it out. Just tell me what happened, in your own time.’

David looked at Darragh whose kind eyes were pools of hope glistening in the half-light, and then he began.

‘We used to be OK, me and Sarah. We had some great years. She was funny, you know, quirky. Not a girly girl, one of the lads. I liked that.

We had been friends first, from school, did you know?’

Darragh smiled and nodded slowly.

‘Well, things changed, you know, when she got this new job, and she started wanting more. I wasn’t really enough, you know, she wanted a better car, better house, better boyfriend. I really tried, long hours, lots of overtime. I loved her, wanted a family, to live and die together. Simple, normal.

She started moaning. Always fucking moaning. Home is supposed to be calm and tranquil, not stressful. It was a battleground. I lost my job and things got worse. More fucking moaning. Screaming sometimes, so the neighbours could hear. Trying to make me feel bad when it was her fault I was getting angry all the time.

Then this one Saturday, I admit I was a bit pissed, I’d been watching the football. England had lost so that pissed me right off. You know, I was tense, you know what it’s like. I’d run out of beer so I messaged and asked Sarah to pick some up from the offy; she was already out shopping, would have been no bother. Well, she forgot Darragh, I mean one thing was all I asked, one fucking thing.’

Darragh looked sympathetic and nodded slowly. David felt solidarity and continued.

‘So, she gets in, no beer, and starts going on about the rubbish. I hadn’t put it out see and, yeah, well I guess it was stinking but I was distracted with the football. She starts yelling right, said I looked like a dosser, like a vagrant. Said I was a mess and she couldn’t bear to be near me anymore. She was all tarted up, smelled of fancy perfume and had new shoes on, like a right dog’s dinner she was. Fucking slag.’

David looked down at his bloody hands. A tear rolled down his cheek, then he sobbed like a child.

The Priest fell to his knees on Sarah’s living room floor calling the unwelcome spirits in the house to leave in a chant-like song.

Sarah had never seen an exorcism before and felt a chill through her body and a wave of nausea. She assumed it was fear. The lights flickered. A door flew open and something in the kitchen fell to the floor.

Sarah ran towards the kitchen but the priest yelled.

‘No, be still child!

Exsúrgat Deus et dissipéntur inimíci ejus: et fúgiant qui odérunt eum a fácie ejus,' the Priest was chanting in Latin.

A gust of air surged through the house.

Darragh put his hand on David’s arm.

‘It’s OK David, I am not here to judge, only God judges. Tell me everything.’

The sobbing had stopped and David continued.

‘I was just so fucking angry. I just grabbed her by the neck and pushed her against the wall. I was so close to her then, closer than I had been for ages. I could feel her breath on my cheek. I almost kissed her but I head-butted her instead. I didn’t mean to do it so hard and she was bleeding. I could smell the blood. But she spat at me and I just got angry so I punched her in the face. There was so much blood, it was pouring from her nose and her brow. There was a big cut. I watched her bleed for a bit. It dripped down her neck and over my hand and I licked it. I wanted to taste her blood. I loved her you know, really loved her.
She was quiet. It was so peaceful without her rabbiting on about all that shit. I was squeezing her neck still but I released it a bit because I thought she may be dead, that I’d killed her. I didn’t want to honestly.


Everything in Sarah’s house began to rattle. Things were moving about, flying at speed through the air and being thrown around the room backwards and forwards. Things were breaking, pictures falling off the wall and mirrors cracking.

The priest carried on shouting despite the danger of a hundred objects hurtling through the air.

‘Let God arise and let His enemies be scattered: and let them that hate Him flee from before His Face! As smoke vanisheth, so let them vanish away: as wax melteth before the fire, so let the wicked perish at the presence of God.’

‘Carry on David,’ said Darragh, ‘keep going son, keep going.’

‘Well, then she said I was pathetic and I couldn’t help it Darragh, really I just went mad, I lost it then completely. I bit her lip really hard. It was like meat, her lip in my teeth, I could feel it coming off in my mouth, felt all her blood on my tongue.

That’s when she did it. She picked up a knife, from the side. She stuck it right through Darragh. Straight through my heart. I mean, how could she?

It didn’t hurt, like a punch, then hot. But I knew, I knew I was a gonner.’

The priest stood up in Sarah’s living room and moaned. Then he opened his eyes. The wind had slowed and things were no longer flying about.

‘Well David, it is good that you have told me and I know you will feel better for it.’ said Darragh.

Then he took off his coat and David saw the white collar of a priest.

‘Do I have to go?’ He asked. ‘Yes David you do, I am here to guide through the door.’ Darragh pointed to the door on the left which was opening. There was a bright light beyond it like a summers’ day.

‘But don’t be afraid David, beyond the door is salvation. Let me take you now.’

Darragh took David’s hand and escorted him to the door. David dropped to his knees.

Darragh spoke in prayer, ‘God our Father, I believe that out of Your infinite love You have created David. In a thousand ways he has shunned Your love. David repents of each and every one of his sins. Please forgive him, Dearest Lord, Amen.'

Then he kissed David’s forehead and led him through the door.

Sarah’s house was quiet. There was a phenomenal calm that had never been in the building before. The pain of all that had happened was lifted and gone. There was peace here now.

‘Has he gone Father?’ Sarah asked.

'Yes, Sarah he is gone to Jesus, and he has found peace in forgiveness.'

‘So what happens now?' She asked.

The Priest looked at the young girl, her face scarred and her eyes sage,

‘I will hear your confession and be on my way,’ the Priest said ‘for all that is tranquil has been resolved.’


© 2019 Sarnia de la Maré FRSA

Other Episodes of the Book of Immersion by Sarnia de la Maré FRSA

Links to episodes of Immersion written and illustrated by Sarnia de la Maré FRSA, published by Tale Teller Club

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Strata 14
Strata 15
Strata 16
Strata17
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Strata 19
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The Cafeteria by Sarnia de la Maré FRSA, short story, #fantasy #animals

Bunnie hopped her way down a long corridor. The bright lights were blinding her and she had a headache. She was in a hurry. The walls were lined with celebratory portraits of animals and insects from all over the world; intricate batiks and weaves as well as paintings in ostentatious frames. The high ceilings and open views from the large windows made her nervous, and jumpy. Frankly. she would be glad when this was over.

Someone startled her, trotting up from behind, clippety-clopping loudly. They overtook her, turning to look at her huge brown eyes. It was a man with long grey hair. He shimmied his main proudly and smiled before clippety-clopping ahead in worn black shoes that had seen better days.

Bunnie smiled back, nervously. She needed all the support she could rally, being a stranger here.

At the double doors, a woman waited. She looked Bunnie up and down with a supercilious stare then looked at the door.

Bunnie felt awkward and was uncertain of her next move. Should she barge passed? She stopped briefly and leaned forward to open the door, waiting for the stranger to go through.

The woman just looked at Bunnie then turned away to glance outside through an adjacent window at the view. Then, just as Bunnie tried to make her own way through the door, the woman leapt in front of her nearly tripping her over.

Bunnie called out a mild expletive and the woman turned around and hissed something back at her, running off to the food area.

Bunnie was feeling agitated. She had been told to meet someone called Ratindra.

Apparently, she was distinctive-looking because of her very long nails.

‘You can’t miss her,’ the concierge had added, ‘she has sticky-out ears too and sits watching everyone from a table in the corner by the drinks cooler.’

The cafeteria was large and busy. There were people all around; running, walking, sitting, some slow, some fast, some skittish, some brazen, some reading, some eating. There was a lot of noise too and Bunnie wondered what they all did here, this diverse group of characters all having refreshments in the cafeteria. There was a lot to take in.

Bunnie spotted Ratindra at last, who was just as the concierge had described.

‘Hi Bunnie,’ said Ratindra, ‘We have been expecting you.’

‘Hi,’ Bunnie replied nervously, ‘what is this place, why am I here?’

Ratindra wiped something off her cheek with the back of her hand and scratched her long nose.

‘Ah, have they not explained? Let me go over things. This is the pre-metamorphosis area. This is just where you come to sort out paperwork before your change.’

Bunnie looked confused.

‘Sorry, I don’t understand.’

Ratindra wiped her cheek again and started nibbling her long nails with her front teeth.

‘Interesting,’ mused Ratindra, ‘where are your papers?’

‘Papers, what papers? I don’t have any papers. You mean like a passport or something?’ asked Bunnie, now feeling self-conscious.

Ratindra sighed.

‘Wait here,’ she said, ‘I will be right back.’

A few minutes later Ratindra returned with a colleague.

‘This is Camila, she said,’

Camila was a top-heavy lady with a hunchback. She had long fluffy eyelashes and as she read her notes, repeatedly flared her nostrils. Ratindra offered her some water which she declined.

‘Just to clarify, Bunnie,’ said Camila, ‘you

don’t have your notes?’

‘No,’ said Bunnie, with a sigh. ‘I was just told to come here immediately after the prang in the car.’

Ratindra and Camilla looked at one another. Ratindra spoke first, ‘I think we may need to speak to Eddy,’ she whispered, ‘there may have been yet another bureaucratic balls-up.'

Eddy joined the group ten minutes later giving Ratindra and Camila a great big hug. He was a large rotund man with lots of facial hair and a bounding gait. He moved down to hug Bunnie too, who panicked, but then realised he needed to be professional in the circumstances and sat down instead to look through his stack of papers.

‘So, Bunnie,’ he said, in a deep baritone voice, ‘do you understand where you are and why you are here?’

‘No,’ said Bunnie, fidgeting and beginning to feel anxious.

‘Let me explain. I am sorry if this is a shock but you are dead. This is the metamorphosis centre where you are booked in for your transformation into your spirit animal.’

‘Dead!’ shouted Bunnie, ‘but I am here and very alive thank you very much.’

‘Hmmmm, no not really,’ said Eddy, you were killed twenty minutes ago in a car crash.’

Bunnie thought for a minute and looked down at her body. Something wasn’t quite right.

Things were misaligned and there was dried blood on her dress. Suddenly everything hurt.

‘So, what happens now?’ she asked, beginning to fear the worst. Do I find out if it's Heaven or Hell or something? What exactly IS the procedure?’

Suddenly a man came running over excitedly, jumping from one leg to the other. He ran off again to grab a clipboard then ran back to the table where he finally and sat down.

‘Hi Camilla, Hi Eddy, Hi Ratindra, Hi Bunnie,’ he said panting, ‘I’m Heinz, very pleased to meet you.' Heinz lifted his hand purposefully but clumsily and put it on Bunnie's, so she shook it obligingly assuming it was protocol.

‘Look, there seems to be an issue, Bunnie,’ he said.

‘You don’t seem to have been allocated a spirit animal for your metamorphosis today.’

Bunnie looked at Eddy and said because she could think of nothing else, ‘well someone isn’t doing their job properly are they?’

The four people opposite her gasped in unison. Heinz licked his lips and avoided eye contact. Camilla snorted, Ratindra twitched and Eddy rubbed his eyes.

‘No, Bunnie, you see, it isn’t us, it’s you,’ said Heinz. 'You need to choose your spirit animal before you die otherwise you can’t go through to the next level of metamorphosis. This is basic. You have really been remiss. It’s surprising as you are already an adult. Most people know early on and certainly decide before they get to the cafeteria.’

Everyone stared at Bunnie.

‘So, what now?’ She asked, also feeling concerned about being dead.

Ratindra spoke. ‘You have to go back,’ she said. ‘It’s disappointing I know. The spirit animal phase is really so much better than the human one. But you will get another chance Bunnie, eventually, I promise. You just need to open your heart.’

Camila, accidentally spitting again, added, ‘you have probably just been too busy dear.'

The loud sirens woke Bunnie up with a start. People were running around making a fuss.

‘You’re Ok love, ‘said the paramedic, lucky miss if you ask me. Let’s give you the once over in the ambulance to make sure nothing is broken and get you to the hospital.'

‘Did I pass out?’ she asked.

‘Just a few seconds love, so we need to watch for concussion. It’s a big shock, a crash like that. Airbag and seat belt saved your life probably.’

A few days later when Bunnie had returned home, her sister came to visit. All her many siblings and extended family had been visiting in an endless caring stream and she had been busy serving nibbles and refreshments now for days. It was exhausting. She was really looking forward to some alone time.

‘I’ve brought you a surprise,’ her sister said excitedly. ‘You spend way too much time running around and working. It is time to take things easy. But I think you need to have some company to share the quiet moments and someone to love when we are not here.’

She presented Bunnie with a large cardboard box wrapped in red ribbons.

‘Go on, open it’ she said.

Inside was a warm fluffy ball looking up at her nervously. It was the most beautiful long-eared baby rabbit Bunnie had ever seen.

'I saw him and thought of you, you were made for each other,' said her sister.

Bunnie gently lifted him out, enraptured and filled with glee. She held him in her arms like a newborn baby and shed a tear of happiness.

Then the two new friends rubbed noses and stared into each other's big round chocolate eyes for a very long time.

© 2019 Sarnia de la Maré FRSA

Links to episodes of Immersion written and illustrated by Sarnia de la Maré FRSA, published by Tale Teller Club

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Ruin, Gothic Poetry by Sarnia de la Maré FRSA

 Ruin

When sleep won't come

the ghosts appear

they never left

just disappeared

for short a time

I remember the old days

when you were mine

What fun we had

crazy mad, 

and glad

to be alive

The goodness died

the fabulous faded

jaded memories

tarnished stories

errors too loud

to quiet the night

The ghosts walk proud

as we march with them to ruin

© 2020 Sarnia de la Maré

Links to episodes of Immersion written and illustrated by Sarnia de la Maré FRSA, published by Tale Teller Club

Strata 1
Strata 2
Strata 3
Strata 4
Strata 5
Strata 6
Strata 7
Strata 8
Strata 9
Strata 10
Strata 11
Strata 12
Strata 13
Strata 14
Strata 15
Strata 16
Strata17
Strata 18
Strata 19
Strata 21

Glossary
Buy Posters and Prints
Art by Sarnia