My Glitch lives on at my other website :)

So for wall of text backstory: I play Gaiaonline, sort of. Specifically I play/write in a forum for roleplaying and art collecting (it's... really hard to explain to an outsider) that's sort of like a blend of Neopets and writing and... well.

Anyway, I run a shop (the name for a big thread that deals in specific roleplaying "pets" or characters) there. The animals that populate that shop are called Kimeti and they live in a swamp. They are laid in a sort of sac as an egg and while they're incubating they have dreams that tell them what their name will be--so you get names like Stranger, Cicadasong, Kindness Can Deceive, etc.

The art I made for the shop is very old, so I apologize for the suck, but basically a (female) Kimeti looks like this. That's my girl Livebirth that my friend Blue colored to look like a butterfly.

When Glitch announced its closure I knew I wanted to make a plush of Toadie, my butler, to go on with me. But that didn't feel like quite enough. So I turned to Matope--my shop on Gaia--and decided that Thaumatrope, my Glitch, was dispersed on the winds of imagination and ended up in Matope, being reborn as a Kimeti.

Her name is Child of Giants. I also pixeled her some piggie familiars to keep her company and named them after my piggies on Glitch, and she's getting a Giant Moth familiar named Milk, too!

So here is Child of Giants :)

I just thought you might like to see at least one Glitch's escape from the ether and into the big wide world!

Here's a very rough first draft of her Naming Dream (we post those in a special forum). It needs a lot of refining, but so far so good :) I had to reword some of the concepts to make it fit into the mind of a Kimeti, and to make it seem more like a distantly-remembered dream than what it was.
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The giants were still in their slumber: they made great dreams, beautiful as oceans, vibrant as forests, vast as skies.

She lived in their dreams, and was a dream: from the disjointed ideas and lost memories she wrought a home for herself and adorned herself in magic. From the strength of her own imagination and the sleeping tangle of the giants' thoughts she labored her own beautiful things. She was but one dream, and with the other dreams the giants made she danced and told stories and whispered the secret things that only the children of dreams can know. And so in the fullness of time the dreams became content, and knew all things; the bounds of the giants' dreaming was reached. They labored among the trees and the beasts, and their stories became well-worn and their songs old and familiar, until the ravens came.

When the ravens came they cowered. This new nightmare was not like the dreams before, and their fury tore at the trees and the ground was thick with the flickering leaves of fallen butterflies. The angry shrieking of the birds drowned out the gentle hum of the giants' snoring slumber. They were afraid.

"This is," they said, "the end of the world."

"The giants will awaken," she said to them. "But that is nothing to fear. Not all dreams are forgotten; we must make ourselves remembered. We have forgotten what it is to imagine our own worlds, and have become comfortable here. We must tend the dreams of the giants here, as we owe them for birthing us, and then we will make our own."

Beneath the onslaught of the ravens they toiled; they tended the trees and nurtured the beasts and spoke with the stones and the earth, and felt the great heaving stirrings of the giants as they moved from slumber. Great fissures formed in the sky and the earth.

"Look!" they said. "There we will emerge from this place. The giants are setting us free."

On the day the ravens stilled, the children of dreams stood beneath the broken sky and sang: they sang of evening light and fireflies, and of one another. As the giants began to awaken, the dreams dispersed, as gently as the seeds of a dandelion. The spaces between them grew.

"Goodbye," she cried, and her voice was a whisper swallowed up in the din of the end of the world.

-*-

And now to new dreams, her own thoughts say, and to new ideas, and new places unexplored. Do not be afraid: other people are not so strange.

She drifts on that strange wind until the ravens, too, are gone; she feels the final stirrings of the giants as she clings to herself: a dream made real. Into the silence she speaks the names of the trees and the stones so that they might not be forgotten.

She is in a small space, a tight space; her four limbs constricted by some snug skin. Around her, the roar of cicadas and the green smell of the kudzu.

New places, unexplored.

Almost forgot this feeling of wonder.

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thank you for letting me share my bad writing /ducks head and runs away

Posted 11 years ago by Thaumatrope | Permalink